(2025-05-05) Red String Strategy

Details

Author:	inkie
Summary:	Following Blue Squad's successful raid on the Twilight Citadel, Dane and Shine return to Highbank, and Dane immediately gets wrapped up in Red String. The team comes together to talk strategy and make plans.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: The Red String Game

Over the course of the last several weeks, Highbank — protected now from orcish assault — has begun to take shape as a proper fortress settlement. Of most note, in among the new fortifications and towers, what was once the skeletal frame of a building beside the gryphon roost is now an inn.

It is a very raw-looking inn, and one wing of it is still under construction, but it is an inn. Highbank is not as yet a popular tourist destination, however, and so in the fortnight or so since its official opening, the inn has stood empty of guests, serving chiefly to entertain soldiers and workmen in the evenings by virtue of having a proper bar and by offering simple, hearty meals to anyone with coin to spend outside the keep's mess hall.

In the last several days, however, the inn has seen an abrupt spike in custom. Word is that an Admiral has arrived at Highbank, and brought with him a motley assortment of guests.

Shine's white gryphon is bright against the dusk as it lands at the Highbank roost. Shine leaves the creature in the gryphon-master's care and crosses the torchlit yard not toward the keep, where his own quarters are, but toward the inn.

Atley stands vaguely in the center of Highbank. His blue and gold armor looks faded, or maybe not faded, but caked here and there in vague, ominous shades of lavender from the day's events. He clutches a bright red apple in his gauntlet, raising it to his lips to audibly crunch into the fruit. Dark hair, turned darker, is handsomely slick back against his square, sturdy head, both matted and wavy, the ends of which have been stained a bright, sandy gold.

His helmet is tucked under one thick arm, his partially soiled cloak waving in the salt-riddled breezy air. He basks in the presence and progress of Highbank but his eyes are drawn northwest. Green eyes are kept thoughtful, his strong jaw working as he chews, mouth shut. His expression is as firm as usual, but there's a stillness, a non-magical aura around him.

Detecting Shine, his brow faintly twitches, and he turns to observe the man on his way to Inn. "In there then, is he?" he asks, needlessly, given the commotion.

Shine pauses, nods, tilts his head toward the entrance. "Couple've other Cobalts with him," he says. "And Dinnsfield and his people. Lathrik Dinnsfield, Stormwind Guard. Ye know him?"

Dane eyes Shine, gaze flickering with recognition at the name.

He glances at the inn, lifting a bushy brow, before he looks back to Shine. "I do. Not well. I’ve heard some about his situation. Let's go have a look, shall we."

More portions of the crunchy apple disappear, and thankfully Highbank’s progress includes improved ‘rubbish’ disposal. No more dropping cores into the ocean.

Shine opens the inn door and ushers Atley in.

It's not yet the hour for the common room bar to be bustling and noisy. A few workmen sit at tables near the bar, making quiet conversation over their suppers. At a table on the opposite end of the room, on the seaward side of the building, Siamus Fallon is seated alone by an open window.

The surface of the table is stacked with paperwork, some of it bearing official seals, some of it appearing to be simple correspondence. It has been sorted into two squared-off, neatly-aligned piles: documents opened and documents still sealed. There is one open sheaf of papers by his left hand; Siamus is writing fast and intently in a notebook with his right. He is not in uniform, dressed as casually as any of the tradesmen also currently patronizing the common room. He is the only one doing paperwork rather than dining.

Atley scoffs faintly with amusement upon observing the specific location of Siamus’ sitting preference.

He glances around the quiet establishment and subtly readjusts the helmet tucked under his bicep, taking in the room with a quiet and unapparent sense of pride.

“Looks busy with paperwork.” Dane growls sidelong at Shine. “He’s due for some relief, I wager.” He grunts and marches across the room, landing in front of Siamus’ table. “New out here then, sailor?”

It takes Siamus a moment; he finishes the line he was writing before lifting his head to gaze up at Atley. It takes him a further moment to surface from depths of preoccupation.

Then he breaks into a broad grin, lays his pen down, and leans back in his chair to lace his hands together behind his head. "If I tell ye yes, are ye going to show me a good time?"

Dane grunts and shakes his head. “Not for free. P’raps if you behave, though I doubt it’ll happen.”

He nods to one of the absent chairs. “This seat taken, then?”

Siamus waves a hand at the chair benevolently. "Go on. I'm glad to see the pair of ye back sound." He shares his smile with Shine, and gestures to a chair at an empty table. "Pull it over."

Shine shakes his head, smiling faintly. "Going to go tell Lena I'm back. I'll draw ye up some maps."

"Ye come back later, then. And bring the lady."

Shine nods. He turns away to head for the door.

Siamus looks back at Dane. "Buy ye a drink?"

Dane inclines his head to Shine, gaze briefly following him before he takes the chair from the empty table for himself, lifting it and setting it down across from Siamus. He transforms it into a helmet rest, wood and metal meeting with a muted clink. He claims his own chair, the furniture squeaking underneath the weight of flesh and steel. “It’ll be the first I have here.” Dane accepts.

After laying Thunderfury and his shield against the wall, he takes to unclasping his gauntlets, nodding vaguely behind him towards the door. “Quite the man you’ve got there.”

"Twenty years," Siamus says. "Wouldn't be where I am without him. Nothing's made me gladder for him this past year than seeing him back in combat at last." Siamus catches the bartender's eye and waves him over. "… except the business with Miss Coit, of course."

The bartender arrives tableside. He does not look put out about having been summoned from the bar; maybe that's what being an Admiral in a naval installation buys you.

"What'll ye have?" Siamus asks Dane.

At twenty years, Dane’s gaze flicks to a space on the wall over Siamus’ shoulder. He stares at the something in the nothing in silence for a moment before he’s brought back to reality by the bartender’s arrival.

He flits his gaze to the man, then to Siamus, and inclines his head, looking back to the bartender. “House ale.” he growls amicably, before nodding with respect.

"The same," says Siamus. The bartender nods to both men and turns away.

Siamus leans forward to begin moving paperwork out of the way. He takes up his two stacks of documents and sets one atop the other in a careful, precise perpendicular, then sets the whole cross-shaped arrangement atop his notebook and slides it aside. He glances up at Atley and studies him. "Something amiss, there?" he asks.

Dane slightly shakes his head. “Long time,” seem to be his final words on the subject.

He nods down at the neatly arranged paperwork and grunts. “Wot’s all this, then? Much of it do with Lathrik and his business?” Dane asks, setting his gauntlets down on the seat next to his helmet. Strong hands flex, scarred fingers stretch, skin rough like leather.

Siamus arches a brow. "Ye heard about Dinnsfield? But no, no. This is — " He waves a weary hand over the pile. "Administration. Navy, politics. The kingdom doesn't bide its time when I'm not at home; it follows me about."

Dane lifts a bushy brow and looks over the paperwork with an unsurprised and unenvious expression. He grunts, gaze lifting back up to Siamus.

“We will pay them back for wot’s happened here,” he mutters through a growl with a sudden fierceness, sympathy in his glaring eyes. “There’ll be a proper accounting.”

Siamus's black gaze turns flinty. He nods. "Aye," he says. "That there will be."

The bartender returns and sets down two tankards of ale. Siamus nods at him. "Thank ye kindly. It's on my tab?"

"Aye, sir," the bartender says, and Siamus flashes him a smile and waves him off. He turns his focus back to Dane.

"D'ye mean to stay up here a while yet? Or are ye back south as soon as?"

Dane swipes up his tankard and raises it slightly towards the bartender. “Cheers,” he bids gruffly but politely.

He takes a long, frothy pull from the tankard and grunts, either at the taste, or at Siamus’ question.

After setting the tankard down on the table — clink — he lightly dabs at his beard with the back of his hand and shakes his hand. “Still here. Split between home and the Molten Front.”

Dane sets his jaw and nods. “We’ve pushed the Twilights back into their Bastion. Largely scoured them and their allies from the land, but Thundermar’s still experiencing small raids from the cultists that managed to carry on.”

His jaw flexes now. “The larger burden’s the Dragonmaw. Those savages persist in their encroachments. They’ve the resources and manpower to press us full tilt here, wot’ with our heavy lifting undoing the Twilight’s.”

Dane takes another sip from the tankard and exhales smoothly. “The Wildhammers of the land are united, and quite possibly stronger than they’ve ever been. While stabilized, they still need the extra blade, logistical support, supply run escorts.”

Siamus's gaze has darkened again dangerously at the word Dragonmaw. "We'll see the filth scoured. Shine means to do much the same. I'll be glad to join the pair of ye, when I've the time." Siamus lifts his tankard but doesn't drink; for a moment he stares hard across the room, as though searching for something in a shadowy corner. He shakes his head, his mouth a firm line, and sets the tankard down again without drinking.

"How are things on the Molten Front? I see the dispatches from time to time, but they don't seem to see a need to keep the navy looped in on Mount Hyjal." His smile is a wry twist. "Ta doesn't write, though Mordecai said Cobalt's run across her there."

Dane faintly raises his brows in surprise. Not at the sudden darkness, that seems to have been expected, even understood, perhaps shared, but the offer. “A boar hunt,” Dane says, using the phrase as if he’d plucked an old, prized heirloom off of a shelf and dusted it. He takes a drink.

“I have.” Dane confirms. “Worked with her and other members of the 7th’s 6th. They’re a cheeky lot, but every bit capable as you’d need.” Dane works his jaw. “That’s been more of a gauntlet than a proper campaign. It was hard fought to establish the front, to maintain it, and to push it, but that’s what we’ve done. Slowly and steadily.” He shakes his head. “To think we’ve brought the fight to an Elemental Lord, in his own realm.” He glances off to the side, observing Thunderfury’s eternal electric flickering.

“You’re familiar with Mordecai, then. Good. How’d that come about?”

"Always known the Aspenwoods in a… vague sort of way. Bertrand best of all, but the whole lot in a general way. The Duchess Aspenwood is a friend of my Duchess." Siamus smiles as if at some private joke.

"Met Mordecai properly through Aszera, though. We had a sort of party for her at the house, invited her friends, Colson and Mordecai among them. He ended up helping me wi'the Church investigation after Remembrance Day."

Siamus follows Dane's gaze as he picks up his tankard again. "And that's the storm-sword I've heard about, is it?" He admires Thunderfury for a moment.

Dane turns to peer at Thunderfury, with a look of clear affection, but the subtlest of lines form on his face. “That’s Thunderfury.” He confirms with a flat growl. “‘Blessed Blade of the Windseeker.’ S’made from innately enchanted elementium. Adorned in black dragon hide, fortified in black dragon bone.” Dane tips his tankard towards the sword and takes a drink. Cheers. “That ‘facker wields itself.“

He looks back at Siamus and squints, half in confusion, half in growing understanding. “You hosted a demon hunter?”

Siamus smiles; it is the half-sly, half-apologetic smile of a man who knows he is getting away with something and feels pretty good about it, actually. "Hosting. She's still with us. Here now, in fact." He gestures toward the inn stairs. "She's a demon hunter, one of the only living as far as we know, and if there's any weapon out there I can get hands on for the Alliance, believe I'll do it. Shame for power like that to go wi'the Horde, aye?"

Dane assesses Siamus evenly. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised by the sentiment, but there’s a newfound curiosity stoked, with a healthy portion of wariness.

“Any weapon?”

Siamus considers the question seriously. "Well, no. I'm a man with principles, aye? I'm not a bloody… one of them. I've served from Crestfall to the Wrathgate.

"But if there's a powerful weapon out there that the Horde looks to have, if it's not one that the Alliance can claim, or if it's one we wouldn't use — like the damned plague — then I'd see it destroyed. I'll take power from the Horde whenever I can. If it happens to be a power we can keep ourselves and use, so much the better."

Dane nods slowly, apparently appeased with this response. He looks from Siamus to Thunderfury and back again, raising his tankard to the latter. "I got bloody lucky with that one. The last time a man sought out an ancient blade to defend his kingdom, he later used the same weapon to rape it." He raises his mug to his lips, but reconsiders, and sets it down again.

Only to raise a hand towards Siamus. "I'm in agreement. I'd rather see these dark powers destroyed, forever. If we can't win without them, whether that's seizing a fabled runeblade, or drinking demon blood, victory was never ours to begin with."

A beat. "But if they're not going anywhere, then they ought to be put to our use. Still. I hate them, and I always will. The fel. The undead. I won't have either near my home." Dane waves a finger at Siamus. "T'was you who sold me on the deathknights," he reminds him. "I cannot deny the practical uses they bring, but I will never forget wot' they are.

Siamus offers an open-handed shrug. "Aye, and nor should ye, any more than ye'd give a blade to a child or trust a careless man with a loaded pistol. Men who forget — or don't know — that a weapon's dangerous aren't the men ye want handling it. I didn't offer death knights a place with us because of their moral fiber or benevolent intent. I offered them one because we're men of moral fiber and benevolent intent, and I'd prefer to have a feral dog on my leash rather than Hellscream's." He drinks some ale and sets the tankard down.

"Aszera's not a death knight. She's a lovely girl — in part in the same way that blade is lovely." Siamus nods toward Thunderfury again. "She's near one of a kind. But she is also a girl, not a blade. She's impetuous and she's left a trail of trouble behind her, to her regret; she wants some direction, some decision, someone to set her where she belongs. We gave her that before the Horde could. She's our blade now."

He folds his arms across his chest and sits back. "As to the fel in general… aye, I'm wary enough of it. But Tyrrell's a close friend of mine. The head of the WEB? And of course Miss Coit works for the fleet — also a WEB member, and as careful a lady as ye could meet. She's been nothing but an asset to us.

"I don't trust the fel in the abstract, as a power. But nor do I trust the arcane or the light in the abstract; I've seen the madness of the blue dragons and the Scarlet Crusade. I trust people. I'll trust people to wield those powers when they're the right people. Just as I trust us to manage death knights and demon hunters to better purpose and with more principle than the Horde would."

With a tip of his head in a nod to Thunderfury, the ever-idling lightning blade, Dane says, "That's partly why I saw through the creation and collection of that weapon. If I didn't, the Horde would've, and it'd be getting used against us as we speak."

He raises his tankard. "I came across her once before, in Northrend. Aszera. The Argent Tournament. We had ourselves a chat and sparred." He shakes his head. "She wasn't the first demon hunter I'd crossed blades with, but she was the first I wasn't trying to kill. The Company had its fair share of contact in Outland, the Black Temple."

He vaguely waves his mug around. "Good fighter. And she has a pulse. Despite the demonic energies she's embraced, she's still alive. Can't say that about the frozen corpses traipsing about, but she's no ordinary girl." He pauses briefly to take a sip. "Where we disagree is how tight the leash ought to be, and I will disagree due to the respect I have for you. This open-minded approach of yours helped secure our victory against the Lich King."

Setting the mug down, Dane slowly shakes his head. "But they're not feral dogs. They're worse. They may be free, but they've still the Scourge about them." He clenches his jaw.

"These monsters we deal with are cunning. They know wot' we want to hear. They know how to play the part, and all the while they're learning. I don't believe they could bring about our downfall. We slew and stacked death knights so high in Northrend you could use them for cover, but they will never stop looking for a way to free themselves from the leash. We all know it wasn't meant for them, these constraints. They know it better than anyone. Largely, I mean the death knights, f'course, but the demon hunter's instability also breeds doubt in me."

Dane grunts. "I'll not say I'm waiting for the day. But I am ready for it. Until then, I will continue to fight beside them, as I have."

Siamus wears an intent, serious look, a line between his brows. When Dane is finished speaking, he nods. "I appreciate your willingness to disagree. Appreciate that ye do disagree. I'm always glad to hear out a man whose judgement I respect, and take it under consideration. Shine could tell ye as much. I'd rather be right than simply win arguments."

He picks up his ale again. "And how is it ye know Dinnsfield?"

Dane takes another slow sip. “We’d journeyed together with a sizable group into Northern Stranglethorn, looking for Rozalin. I understand Lathrik spearheaded the investigation into her disappearance.”

He sets the tankard down with a smooth exhale and briefly licks his lips. “I’d recently run into a writer in Menethil Bay. Once he’d learned who I was, he asked me to keep an eye out for Lathrik here, in the Highlands. Lathrik himself was looking for another person up this way.”

Siamus laughs. "The writer would be Peril Farrens, aye? Azerothian Interest?"

Dane nods slowly. “That’d be him. You familiar with the man?”

"Bought his house," Siamus says, and flashes another smile. "And found them the man they were looking for. Two unrelated incidents, mind. That's what's brought me up here, was finding the man. The first part of what's brought me up, at any rate." He squints and tilts his head thoughtfully. "I expect ye know Miss Herald and Miss Fey as well, as they're Cobalts. Pair of priestesses?"

Dane squints faintly in confusion before he nods once. "Aye, Estel and Almeiria. More fond of Estel." he adds gruffly. "You've come up here yourself to handle this?"

"I have." Siamus pauses. He lowers his voice. "Dinnsfield's been of great service to the kingdom. Man's life needs saving, and it's in the hands of a pair of Twilights at the moment. We've got together some people to handle it. Shine's one. Aszera and Miss Coit are others. Bertrand Aspenwood." He waves a hand in a gesture that could mean et cetera.

"Besides," he says. "pleasant to spend some time at the front again, see how our people are holding up, talk to the men. See the Twilights and the Dragonmaw fortifications for myself."

It's a cultist-hunting warfront vacation: the ideal getaway for a man who's been stuck at his palatial country estate for a few months.

Dane grunts and briefly glances out the window. He can understand that.

"So he's been captured by the Twilight's, then. Why him? It have anything to do with Major Samuelson, the attempt on the King's life?" He takes another sip from his tankard, increasingly intrigued. Enemies?

Siamus shakes his head. "He's not been captured. Upstairs right now with a couple've druids keeping him alive. He's got a… curse on him of sorts. It was laid on him by a Twilight, and we mean to have her take it off him one way or another. Not connected with Samuelson and that business, except insofar as Dinnsfield helped our investigation into it as best he could."

Dane lightly shakes his head after vaguely glancing upwards. "Why've they gone after him?"

Siamus is quiet for a moment. He contemplates his drink and then shakes his head. "The lady who set the curse on him is his mother. Their mother, his and Farrens'. She fell in wi'the cult at some point. She's got even worse company now. Twilight shadow assassin who made an attempt on Count Amerith last winter. It was Dinnsfield that thwarted the assassination at the time, which brought him — and his condition — to the assassin's notice. As best we can tell, the man's taken some kind of hold on Mrs. Farrens and is now personally manipulating the curse to try to drain Dinnsfield to death."

He pauses again and then smiles wryly. "Sounds half like a story from the Interest, doesn't it?"

Dane squints again, turning his head to the side, sharp jaw lowering as his lips part. "I hadn't known the two were brothers. Farrens just a pen name then, is it?" Dane asks, or maybe theorizes.

He takes another small sip and resignedly shakes his head. "The tale does sound tall, but the world's only gotten bloody crazier in the past four years. Did the mother place the curse before she fell into the manipulations of this assassin? Or is the assassin the architect of it all?"

"Farrens is the family name," Siamus says. "Dinnsfield changed his. And aye, the mother placed the curse when they were children. Escaping the fall of Stormwind. She was protecting the lads from some orcs and… something happened. Wi'the shadow power. The lads were saved from the orcs, but Dinnsfield was left marked, and Mrs. Farrens vanished." He watches Dane. "Dinnsfield was four years old."

Dane grunts, softer now. He stares at Siamus without seeing him for a few seconds before he shakes his head, light returning to his eyes. "I hadn't known." he growls lowly. "She'd marked her son on accident, fighting off the greenskins." He tongues the inside of his cheek and raises his tankard, but he doesn't drink from it yet. "How'd the two lads survive after she vanished?"

Siamus shrugs wearily. "Fell in with other refugees, headed north for a time. Farrens — the writer — he's the older of the two, looked after Dinnsfield. Ye wouldn't think it necessarily to meet the man, but he took good care for the both of them. The house I bought off him was the one Dinnsfield was living in; Farrens had bought it for him so his younger brother would have a place his own."

There's another grunt, followed by another sip, before the tankard's set down on the table. "Any idea where their mother is? And the assassin, too?" Dane asks, brow furrowed intently. "I'm of a mind to help save this woman from torment."

Siamus smiles broadly and settles back in his chair again. "She's here. Not here, mind, but here in the Highlands. At that spire, we think — the Bastion — ye were working around today. Shine's drawing up maps of the place for us now." He reaches for his drink. "And no, ye didn't kill her in your work. Shine knew to be on the watch for the both of them. We mean to find the scarred man — the assassin — and put an end to him first to get her loose. And then we'll assess her state. We don't mean to let the assassin know we're here, if it can be helped. He's bloody dangerous and Dinnsfield's not his only target."

Dane leans back in his seat and grunts. He glances inside his tankard for a moment before looking back to Siamus. "Is this something you mean to do before the storming of the Bastion itself? Put together a specialized strike team to rush in and retrieve the woman?"

"Ideally, aye. If we wait for the storming of the Bastion, tides can tell what might happen to her in all of that. Even if she — or he, or the pair of them — managed to escape the assault, it just means they go to ground again and the hunt begins all over again. And meanwhile, Dinnsfield's dead." Siamus leans forward to put his elbows on the table, wrapping both hands around his tankard.

Dane grunts. "Wiser." He takes the last available sip from his tankard, emptying it, and sets it down before folding his arms across his breastplate and tabard. "It can be done, I'm certain. Why not send Shine? He can move about unseen. He has fresh experience in the area. One man's harder to notice than a handful, especially that man. Less risk of tipping off this 'scarred man' 'fore someone can get to the mother."

Siamus smiles faintly. "Oh, aye, he'll have work to do in there. But I imagine we're going to need a number of skills to manage the thing. Be glad of yours, certainly."

A cleaned up but still barefoot, unruly-haired, and no-makeup Oslynn Gravehowl scampers up to the table in a comfortable looking undyed peasant dress.

"It's you!" she breathes at Dane by way of greeting. "Sir Dane Atley the Red! You remember me? Oi can turn into a sea lion if it'll jog yer memry."

Dane doubletakes Oslynn before he growls in recognition.

"'Course I remember you," he says, inclining his head to the feral child turned adult. "You've joined the hunt then, have you? Any other Gravehowls about?"

"Merry's here," she answers Dane. "Ummm Laydy Merelda Veyne."

Siamus smiles warmly. "Ah, you're acquainted. Brilliant.

"I'm going to get a bottle," he tells the pair. "And see whether I can chase Dinnsfield and Miss Kensington-Whit downstairs. Oslynn, pull over a chair for yourself." He rises from the table and collects his paperwork. "Back shortly."

Ozzy drags a chair over. Sccccrrrrreeeeeee. "Seen the News Man about?" she asks Dane.

Dane grunts and shakes his head. "Haven't seen him." he growls, shifting his chair away to make room.

News Man, as he has so been called, is on Dad Duty, which is going… It's going. When the two men enter the room, it becomes clear that Fray is carrying Peril on his shoulders. Sort of. What's really happening is Peril is dangling from Fray's shoulders by his legs, both hands clinging to his hat to keep it on his head, while Fray shouts encouragement.

"Sit up, Peril, come on," he booms.

"I can't!" Peril protests. "Perhaps you've noticed by now, but I'm a bit weak in the core muscles! I'm a writer, not a swordsman!"

Ozzy squeals with delight and claps her hands. She has no idea what is going on but is behind it 100%.

"There 'e is," Ozzy says to Dane, perhaps unnecessarily, and then takes her seat. She also tries to comb her fingers through her hair to calm it down, but instead her fingers just sort of get stuck in it, so she stops.

Dane up-nods slowly and looks to the father and son pair. "Good to see you squared away," Dane remarks gruffly to Peril. "It's been some time, hasn't it."

"Ozzy, are you in here?" says a voice every bit as Gilnean as Oslynn's, but in other ways very different, as Merelda enters the room. "I'm sure I can work out the tangles if–" She cuts off at the spectacle of Fray and Peril. "Oh, dear. Do you need… a boost?"

"Do it do it!" Ozzy encourages.

"We wouldn't want him to lose his hat, now would we?" Merelda says with a smile as she cautiously circles around, aiming to get her hands under Peril to push him back upright.

Ozzy giggles uncontrollably, like a brook tumbling downhill.

Peril, with a bit of help, manages to return to an upright position, only to cling wildly to his father's head when he realizes how far off the ground he is and how easy it will be to tip back over again. He is also perilously close to hitting the ceiling. "M-maybe this is not an indoor activity?" he stammers.

Fray glances at the ceiling, then grunts in acknowledgement, kneeling down to lower Peril back to the safety of the floor.

With a sigh of relief, Peril turns to Merelda. "Thank you," he says. "Very much. And Sir Atley is here as well, I see." He tips his hat in greeting to Ozzy.

"A knight?" Fray turns his gaze onto Dane.

"You're welcome, Mr. Farrens," Merelda says politely, and looks for a moment like she might ask what exactly was going on here, but then she just shrugs. Stranger things have happened than piggyback rides on people's shoulders.

Ozzy narrows her eyes at the hat tip, but detecting no accompanying wink, settles back into her chair with an amiable air. "Yeah 'e's a knoight, Mr. Farrens," she says to Fray. "E's THE knoight."

"He is the night," Fray translates with a serious expression. It's possible he failed to hear the silent k.

Merelda steps over towards Ozzy, one hand reaching idly for her tangled hair, as she turns to Dane. "Sir Atley, a pleasure to see you again."

Dane briefly studies Fray before he inclines his head in acknowledgment.

As Merelda approaches he pushes himself up, chair creaking underneath him, and collects his helmet and gauntlets from a nearby chair, tucking them under an arm. “Pleasure’s all mine, milady. Please, sit if you care to.”

Ozzy leans into the hair touching, like a dutiful daughter.

Merelda starts working out some of the knots with gentle, deft fingers. She probably won't be able to get all of them.

It's definitely a Situation, but she's helping.

"I knew I shouldna washed it," Ozzy grumbles.

"I don't think the washing was the problem," Merelda says quietly. "Besides, your hair is lovely clean."

"Oh yeah, jus' look a' me," she deadpans. "Ready for a chari'y bawl."

"Ready for some kind of bawl," Merelda says dryly, as she tugs another tangle loose. "I should take you to a spa sometime, and…" Merelda pauses, and amends to, "That is, we could go to one, if you'd like, for your hair. After all this is over."

Ozzy looks vaguely curious, but says neither yea nor nay, just sits and lets Merelda continue working out the worst of the snarls.

Ozzy frowns at Dane. "Goin' somewheh?"

"Oh," Merelda says with a slightly abashed smile, taking a seat next to Oslynn. "Protocol, I believe. No one need stand on ceremony on my account, not in an inn in a warzone. I'm here as a druid, not as a representative of House Veyne, though I suppose I still carry that with me."

"Ppffft," says Ozzy. "You ain't nuffing compared to Sir Atley the Red. You should be standin' up fer 'IM." From the look on her face, this is less meant as an insult to Merry as it is awestruck praise for Dane.

Merelda, rather than looking insulted, just chuckles. "True as that may be, the protocol in question is for ladies."

"Any lady 'ere wot's killed a dragon or exposed one in the f'rone room o' stormwind, raise yer 'and," Ozzy says wryly. "Seems silly to me is all. Wot's it for?"

Merelda glances apologetically to Dane and says, "Silly or not, it's a Society thing. It seems you're likely to spend considerably more time around knights and nobility, Ozzy, so it might be worthwhile for you to learn."

Ozzy frowns. "You know, when oi was a girl oi used to dream me real da' was King Grymyne, till oi realize 'e woz nuffing bu' a coward an' a traitor, an' then I dreamed me da' was Lawd Crowley or some duke or somefing. Especially when the money started comin'. But it was just a styupid dream."

Her eyes get a little wet as she looks at Merelda.

"If it ain't matter wot you do, just 'oo yer folks was, then wot's the point o' doin anyfing? Oi came 'ere to help, an' you wouldn't even be 'ere of it weren't for me, but the man stands up for you an' I get nuffing."

She blinks a few times and then stands abruptly, running fingers through her hair.

"Oi'm gonna go brush me 'air proper," she says. "By mesewf, an' then oi'll come back," she clarifies, before all but bolting to her room.

Peril watches Ozzy go, concern mixed with guilt on what can be seen of his expression. "Should I have thanked her more?" he asks.

"She'll be alright," Merelda reassures him. "But I'm sure she'd like appreciation, regardless, if you have it to give. Who doesn't, after all?"

"I didn't mean…" Merelda stares after where Ozzy's has run off for a moment with surprise and a touch of regret, and then she sighs. To Dane and the Frays, particularly Peril, she adds, "She isn't wrong, though, on that count. I know she was the one you invited up here, and I was the one who came along with."

The bartender returns, this time carrying two bottles — one whiskey, one wine — and a tray of glasses. He sets these wordlessly on the table, gives a deep, obsequious nod that suggests he wasn't sure whether to bow or salute so A Real Good Nod is the compromise, and departs again.

Dane looks between Ozzy and Merelda during this, expression as firm and unreadable as usual, if not for the faint clench of his teeth and slight parting of his lips.

He nods in the direction Ozzy went. “She’s a spirited one,” he compliments, turning to set his helm and gauntlets down near Thunderfury, against the wall. “Reminds me of myself at that age.”

He retakes his seat and gives the bartender a firm, polite nod as the drinks and glasses are delivered. “Cheers.”

"She has never had any shortage of spirit," Merelda says wryly, but somehow it comes out sounding approving at the same time. "And she's had a harder time of it than many. I hope the future may be gentler, but… well, here we are fighting the Twilight's Hammer. Who can say?"

As if summoned by the wine and whiskey, an elvish woman in dark leather armor steps lightly down into the common room. Aszera hesitates only briefly before heading over to the table where Merelda, the Frays, and Dane are.

Dane starts reaching for the whiskey before he spots Aszera. He pauses, acclimating to her presence, before he gives her a nod and collects the bottle, pouring out a whiskey for himself and one other — whomever.

Emerine trails after Aze. She is dressed in her usual leathers, but her hood and mask are down. "Sir Atley," she says, pleased. "I take it this means Blue Squad made it through. Shine promised us maps."

Dane amiably inclines his head to Emerine, taking a whiskey sip, broad, armored shoulders tucked in between Merelda and the wall, his cloak laid out over the back of his chair. “We did. And I’m certain he’ll deliver.”

Aze sits at the table and reaches for the spare whiskey. "You're with the team now, Sir Atley? Haven't seen you since Icecrown."

Emerine stands behind Aze, resting her hands on the back of the chair.

Dane doesn’t stop Aze, turning to peer at her.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it. Aye. I’m with the team now.” He takes another sip and allows a quiet moment to savor the burn. “You’ve joined us, then,” he growls carefully, with approval.

Aze grins. "The Alliance? I have, as of early this year. Oaths and everything. The Aspenwoods vouch for my loyalty. As for here, I'm on the team to help my friends."

Dane regards her for a single moment before he nods and raises his glass towards her.

Bertrand Aspenwood enters from the front door, making his way over to the table. "You've been busy today," he says to Dane. "Hey, everyone."

As Bertrand arrives, Dane scoffs with amusement. “No rest for the wicked. You lot’ve put together quite the party.”

"Fallon's doing, mostly," Bertrand says. He pulls up a chair.

Dane takes a sip and looks toward the stairs where the Admiral disappeared. “Seems to be a habit of his.” He shifts around to try and make more room, but being spatially unobtrusive has clearly never been his strong suit.

Aze raises her glass in response and takes a gulp as Dane and Bertrand talk.

Joelle enters the room next, and, seeing everyone gathered around Dane, pauses. Another new person. Wow, look at them go.

Fray turns his stern expression on Joelle, and for a moment, he just stares. These two appear to have missed meeting somehow. Joelle stares back, though a touch more cluelessly.

Dane flits his gaze between them.

The front door opens again quietly. Shine holds it to let Lena pass ahead of him before stepping in to follow her.He's dressed in clean, workaday clothing, and carrying a roll of papers in one hand. If he is startled at how the group has increased since he left Siamus and Dane sitting by the window, his expression doesn't show it.

Ozzy returns from her room. Her hair is still a mess, but it is now a fluffy-soft mess rather than a snarled one. She shoots a slightly sulky look at Dane, then just sort of sweeps a look generally over the number of people in the room and the size of the table some are sitting at.

She heads over to a pair of empty tables, bends down to look under them, and discovering that they are not in fact bolted to the floor, shifts into a seven-foot brown worgen with a cream colored face and a brown stripe down her nose and a few skinny braids in her mane… and begins to drag the two tables together.

Lena smiles at Shine as she passes by him and walks into the room, and then she draws up short for a moment, seeing the crowd.

"Oh, good idea," Lena says, when she spots Ozzy moving the table. She's not startled by the sudden worgen form anymore. "Do you need any help?"

"Don't trouble yesewf milady," she says, her voice deeper and huskier in this form. "Let the cobbler's daugh'er 'andle it; wouldn't want those pre'y 'ands of yours to get all rough."

Okay, she's still sulking. And clearly not clear on who's a lady and who's just extremely well behaved and pretty middle class.

Shine looks from Ozzy to Lena and back, and then at the rest of the group. After a moment, he offers his papers to Lena to hold, and moves toward Ozzy. He silently collects a pair of chairs on the way to heft them and carry them over to the group.

Joelle looks at his hands. They're rough already! He dutifully moves to help Ozzy with the table.

Ozzy gives Shine an appreciative nod.

Bertrand rises. "Good idea. We've got more on the way, I imagine." He helps Shine move chairs, allowing the worgen to handle the tables herself.

"Mine come pre-roughened," Lena says with a dry smile. "But the boys probably have more strength than I've got anyhow."

Instead, she brings the papers and settles in at one of the new chairs.

When Joelle and Ozzy have finished moving the table she looks down at the enormous man, giving him a chummy little bump with her hip. "'Ey li'l fella," she says, eyes sparkling slyly.

Joelle is not used to being referred to as little. He looks up at her, his dark brown eyes expressing amusement.

Ozzy gives him a toothy grin, then gestures toward the original table, wordlessly suggesting they drag it over too.

A signal of cooperation! Joelle eagerly moves to help with the table.

Dane grunts, passively observing Ozzy’s transformation from a pragmatic point of view, examining the amount of raw strength instantaneously generated.

Fray does not reach for his weapon at Sudden Worgen. He has learned.

Merelda shifts in her seat, as if maybe she should change into worgen form and assist. She does not.

Lena watches the moving of the tables proceed with interest.

Aze is busy with her whiskey.

Once the tables have all been smooshed together, Ozzy flops into a seat, back to being around 5'9" or so. Not petite by any means, sturdy-boned and rough-handed, but comparatively, she suddenly looks rather fragile.

Shine takes the seat next to Lena's and drapes his arm across the back of her chair. "That whiskey?" he asks, and nods toward the (relatively) distant bottle. "Who's pouring?"

“I’ve been,” Dane says, looking from Shine to the others. “Who else’d fancy a bite?” He pours himself another glass, before drifting the bottle towards Aze’s.

Ozzy gives her (blunt, human) teeth a little snap in Dane's direction.

Aze lifts her glass, welcoming a refill.

Dane raises his gaze to Ozzy from across the table, attention drawn but demeanor undaunted. He pours Aze a refill without looking away from the young worgen. “I ought to’ve stood when you sat as well, Lady or not. I’d have you forgive me.” he says calmly.

Shine looks to Lena, brow raised. He starts to answer Dane but falls silent for the apology and looks between Dane and Ozzy again.

Lena raises a return brow with a smile and shrug, a message of why not?

Ozzy's gray-green eyes instantly soften, and she colors a little. "S'awroigh't," she mumbles.

Merelda looks between Dane and Ozzy with a faint smile.

Dane grunts and looks around for other whiskey takers.

Shine says to Dane, "One for the lady and one for me."

Bertrand takes a seat at the new combination of tables once they're all arranged.

Dane leans pours two more glasses for Avershine (yes). He waits to see if anyone else makes a request before relinquishing the bottle to as close to the approximate center of the Frankentable as he can reach without cramming someone with his plate.

“Do we await the Admiral?” he asks, putting the whiskey away as if it were water, performing a headcount of those assembled.

Shine nods a silent thanks to Dane. He picks up one of the glasses and offers it to Lena in trade for his papers.

Lena accepts the trade and takes a small sip. She looks up to Dane as he speaks, but has no answer.

Fray sits in as near to a corner as he can, and Peril beside him, though the older man's eyes continue to flick between Dane and Joelle. His expression is sternly assessing.

Joelle takes his seat somewhere in the middle of the group.

"The Admiral and Dinnsfield, I expect," says Shine, picking up his own drink. He performs a headcount himself. "And the priestesses, and Shun."

“Bloody small army,“ Dane growls into his glass with a neutral tone of observation.

"Small navy," Shine corrects him, dry humor in his tone.

"It will be needed," Fray rumbles.

"It's good to have allies," Aze says, lifting her glass in a kind of salute.

Fray gives Aze a firm nod of approval.

A moment later, as if summoned by the word 'navy,' Siamus descends the stairs. He sweeps a look over the Frankentable, gives Shine a slanted smile, and says, "We need another bottle? And another table?"

Almeiria descends directly behind him, like a ghost or a shadow. Perhaps she is trying to be unnerving. Wilt, navy man, wilt darn you!

Estel is right behind Almeiria on the stairs, wearing a light blue sundress with hiking boots that don't match at all.

And directly behind Estel steps in a man in dark leathers. A mask covers the lower half of his face, and a scar could be seen by his left eye.

He is not the scarred man of shadows in question, however.

Ozzy gives Siamus an enthusiastic wave, then leans her jaw on the heel of her hand, her gaze drifting between Peril, Joelle, Merelda, and Dane.

Dane raises his head. “Both, I warrant.”

Siamus nods at Dane, leans over the table to pick up the whiskey bottle, and shows it to the bartender across the room. The man nods, and Siamus sets the bottle down again. He does not look remotely wilted, sorry, Almeiria.

Dane doesn’t wilt, but he does glare. His attention shifts to the masked stranger, rapidly assessing the man.

Ozzy also stares at Shun.

Merelda notices people staring. She also stares at Shun, for good measure.

Estel does a little bounce-jump off the very last step when she reaches the bottom. It's totally unnecessary.

Shine smiles faintly at Estel.

Siamus looks around the group. "I expect most of ye know him, but this is Sir Atley, of Cobalt Company. Was leading Shine's team in the highlands the last couple've months. Has everyone else met?"

"Shun," Shine reminds Siamus, because that is the man's name and you cannot get away with failing to know that.

"Oh, aye." Siamus turns to him. "Miss He– Estel's partner Shun."

Joelle follows everyone's stares, and also sets his gaze on Shun. He waves.

"Oi fink we're gonna need anuvver tabwe," Ozzy mutters, and gets to her feet again. WooOOOOP! Seven foot worgen suddenly, as she stalks the room for table prey.

"We're going to be the whole common room soon enough," Lena murmurs with an amused smile.

"We're already the whole of the inn," Siamus says with a crooked smile. "Not many tourists in Highbank yet. But I expect the bar will fill up soon enough. Getting to be that hour." He starts to rearrange chairs to make room for yet another table. Shine sets down his drink and rises to help him.

The bartender, who had been approaching with the second whiskey bottle, takes a step back and waits cautiously for the seven foot worgen to pass.

Joelle rises, also on table duty, to follow his worgen friend. He seems happy.

Shun catches Dane's (and everyone else's) gaze, leveling his eyes onto each of them in turn to silently assess the ones he hadn't seen prior to now.

He follows Estel before taking his seat nearby.

Dane grunts and nods.

Shun grunts and nods right back.

Estel sits down next to Shun and leans her elbows on the table. "Can we get some food too?" she asks Siamus hopefully. She has priorities that are not alcohol.

Siamus looks startled. Oh, right, people eat food. "Aye, of course."

As the bartender sets the new bottle on the table, Siamus says, "Can ye have them send out dinner for…" He looks the group over. "The whole lot of us? Whatever's on."

"Aye, sir," says the bartender, and heads back toward the kitchen.

"Thanks." Estel grins and leans forward in her chair, waiting for food.

Ozzy and Joelle manage to get another table in place. "Fanks," she says in her worgen-voice, giving him another friendly hip-bump and then a… sniffsniffsniff round about the crown of his head with a curious, companionable air. Just getting to know a person in a super normal way, sniffsniff.

Merelda looks like she might be about to say something else about Protocol, but she does not. Let the worgen sniffsniff.

Joelle returns the gesture, sniffing Ozzy as well. Clearly, this is what friends do. Companionably.

Ozzy giggles delightedly. At the moment she smells a bit like a clean puppy. She changes back to human form mid-sniff, and smells like soap and girl, shorter than him again. She flops into the nearest chair. She is still not wearing shoes.

Fray suddenly rises, lifting Peril's hand into the air. The reporter scrambles to his feet in confusion.

"This is Peril Farrens, the Firstborn, the Chosen One," Fray announces, his voice booming through the inn. The vibrations of his announcement can be felt in the wood of the chairs. Then he sits back down. That was all, carry on.

Peril remains standing for a moment after, his mouth slightly agape. Then he quickly sits down. This is fine, everything is fine.

"BUAHAHAHAHAHAHAW," Ozzy splutters.

Dane knits his brow faintly and can’t decide to be discreetly, gruffly weirded out by the sniffing of the announcement of the one prophesied. He takes a drink instead.

Bertrand laughs, and then looks apologetically at Peril.

It is likely Ozzy has found something better to call Peril now than "News Man." Have fun with that, Peril.

Shine very nearly chokes on his drink, but saves himself. He glances over at Fray and raises his eyebrow.

Siamus looks astonished, and then delighted, and then both are sealed behind a mask of solemnity. "Oh, aye. I ought have said. Beg pardon." He bows his head respectfully to Peril, a gleam in his dark gaze.

Peril sliiides his hat further over his face to avoid being seen.

Shun raises a brow before glancing at Estel and making a few gestures with his hands. "[Chosen-One?]"

Estel looks at Shun and shrugs. She leans over to say, "Pretty sure he's just a guy."

Lena chuckles.

Aze nods agreeably, with an enigmatic smile on her face.

Merelda looks a little puzzled.

"The inimitable Peril Farrens," Ozzy perfectly pronounces, eyes glittering.

Siamus glances down at Ozzy and smiles at her. What a charming, self-improving little barefoot sea lion she is.

She beams back at him.

"There is no call for shouting, we're all right here," Almeiria says, chastising Fray.

There is a word on Fray's lips, a name, perhaps, but it never makes it into the air.

Almeiria, something near fury in her expression, lifts a hand. "Iwhuk!"

Shadow closes around Fray's throat, and whatever his next words were about to be, only silence emerges. The man seems otherwise unharmed.

Ozzy leaps to her feet. "Ey, le' 'im go!" she cries, incensed. "Tha' ain't noice! 'E can't 'elp bein' loud!" Neither, apparently, can Ozzy.

Bertrand goes from near-lounging at the table to full alertness instantly.

Dane stares at Almeiria in disgust, growing still. “That’s enough.”

Seeing that Fray has more than enough in the way of a champion, Ozzy sits again.

"Explain?" Estel suggests, holding up a hand in a calming gesture.

"He knows my name," Almeiria says, glaring at Fray.

She releases the spell, but cautiously. Fray remains silent by choice, this time. Joelle blinks at Almeiria, probably wondering if saying Almeiria is off-limits somehow. Peril is probably wondering the same thing, because he pulls out a notebook and jots something down.

Shun watches this exchange very carefully as he narrows his eyes. He's waiting to see if this escalates any further.

Siamus has turned on Almeiria, his expression unwontedly icy — perhaps literally; the temperature in the room seems to be dropping — and his gaze very black. "Miss Fey," he says. "Sit down. I've been trusting ye as we have a common goal, and ye've been vouched for by Mi– Estel. But I do question your judgement. If ye intend to be a threat to your own allies, we're going to have a problem."

"Okay, okay," Estel says, holding up both hands. "Fray, you know her real name? Don't say it. That's dangerous. She's in hiding. Call her Almeiria like the rest of us, yeah?" She does not specify what the specific nature of the danger is, but there's genuine concern there.

Dane grunts at the proposed compromise, but keeps a very still gaze on Almeiria.

Shine has gone very still in his seat, a certain tension in his manner that Dane — and probably Shun and Estel — might recognize. How many knives are there this evening? Who can say?

He does not move, but his gaze flicks between Siamus and Almeiria.

"She is in no danger with me here," Fray says, more to Almeiria than to Estel.

"You know nothing of how I've lived," Almeiria spits, venom on full display.

"This," says Siamus, "is a problem." He is addressing Estel.

"It's a better problem than the one we might've been having instead if he'd said her name," Estel says.

Aze is focused carefully on Almeiria now, senses on alert.

Lena raises a hand to her temple, as if to forestall a headache.

Merelda shifts closer to Ozzy, in case the shadow priestess chooses another target.

"Not if we can't get the bloody thing done together because people are at each others' throats," Siamus tells her. "If there's further information we should have about the particular danger to Miss Fey, then we should have it, as her allies. Being bloody cryptic and then half-strangling people all of the sudden is the least possible effective way to work as a team.

"If Miss Fey acted to forestall a disaster, then fine. We obviously want the lady safe or we wouldn't be arranging rooms as we have, wouldn't be working together in the first place. But someone is going to have to learn how to use plain words with people and trust them far enough to lay out any potentially fatal pitfalls from the start." He turns his black-eyed look on Almeiria. "If ye knew that he knows your name, ye could bloody well have told him before now that it can't be said. If we know that, and he or anyone else is out of order, poses a risk, then we can handle it. This is a team of people, and we are all here for common purpose — a purpose which includes your safety — so if ye don't mind, I will ask ye again to sit down."

His voice is very low and level and very cold; his native accent has become more distinct. It is also very cold in the room.

Dane grunts, and takes a sip of whiskey. He vaguely glances around the room before peering at Siamus.

Aze, her own expression blank and cold, waits silently for Almeiria's response.

Estel nods and looks at Almeiria. "Please," she adds, her expression telegraphing some degree of helplessness — she has been trying very hard here, but there is only so much she can do.

Almeiria takes a seat, not in a defeated manner, but a dignified one, responding smoothly, "I did not, and do not intend to harm anyone here, Admiral. I was merely defending myself, and my right to privacy. It seems in our previous encounter I failed to impress upon Mister Farrens that I do not wish for my name to become public knowledge, and for that, I apologize. I will be clear now. I do not wish for my name to become public knowledge, Mister Farrens. I do hope that is understood."

Though it does not seem like Fray is supportive of her decision, he does incline his head in acknowledgement.

Dane slowly works his jaw, eyeing Almeiria before the venomous glare fades.

Siamus nods at Almeiria once, curtly, his expression still hard mask. He glances at Fray, and then he looks at Estel and nods once to her as well.

Estel nods back seriously.

Dane clears his throat and looks between them all. He raises his voice just loud enough to be heard at the table, but he doesn’t necessarily sound a horn. “Do we need this Twilight Assassin alive for questioning? The Scarred Man.”

"I believe we want him quite fucking dead," says Siamus. The profanity is unusual. Someone is still in a bit of a temper. "He's too dangerous to toy with."

"Leaving him alive when there is a chance to kill him would be a horrible mistake, and I cannot recommend it at all," Almeiria says firmly.

Shun finally speaks up, "His death is the responsibility of Almeiria, Estel, and I. He will not walk."

Dane looks between both of them and nods once, unoffended by profanity or firmness, before he looks to Shun and performs a rapid, second assessment. “Very well.”

He sets the whiskey glass down. “Do we have any reason to believe the Lady Fray is being held in general population? With other prisoners, or sacrifices?” Dane inquires bluntly.

Siamus holds up a hand. "We're waiting on Dinnsfield yet. He's fair central to the whole business."

A pair of inn staff approach from the kitchen. They are carrying platters of roast meat and potatoes and carrots, pitchers of beer and juice, a basket of sliced bread and another of fruit. There is a lot of food. It may be almost enough for Estel.

Siamus tilts his head at the table to indicate they can just lay it out wherever. Another worker approaches to set down a stack of plates. "Thank ye," says Siamus.

"Carrots!" Ozzy cries, in the tone someone else might cry, my love, you came back to me!

Estel perks up. "Carrots? Carrots! Oh, and potatoes!"

Dane nods once and sits back as the food is laid out. He grunts politely at the inn staff and fixes himself a plate of roast beef and carrots.

Ozzy helps herself to a bit of everything, and like, five times the appropriate number of carrots.

Aze smiles, very deliberately, at Almeiria, and gathers a little bit of food on a plate. She drinks no more whiskey.

Shun waits for others to help themselves before fetching a plate for himself and Estel. He loads on considerably more food for her.

Notably, he doesn't remove his mask.

Estel pours herself juice in the meantime, waiting impatiently. The moment the plate is in front of her, she starts eating. With her fingers.

Shun doesn't eat with his fingers. He just somehow does it with the mask on. He seems unbothered by Estel's eating habits.

Shine makes zero effort to hide the fact that he is watching Shun eat with his mask on.

After a bit of watching, it seems like Shun is pulling it off with some very skilled movements.

Dane faintly side-eyes Estel, but he’s mostly unbothered by the display, satiated with his own roast meat.

Ozzy shovels carrots into her mouth, and then closes her eyes, making a nigh-obscene little mmmmm sound. Carrrrrottttts.

Across the room, one of the kitchen workers detours from his return to the kitchen to stoke the common room hearth. The chill already seems to be dissipating but it was brrr for a few minutes there.

Siamus watches Estel with faint amusement. He remembers this about the lady, yes.

Emerine picks a single piece of fruit out of the fruit basket and starts eating, still standing.

Lathrik soon joins everyone in the room, having missed all the excitement and drama. Just kidding.

Fray rises as Lathrik enters and announces, just as loudly as with Peril, "Lathrik Dinnsfield, the Second Son. The Champion." And then he sits back down.

Almeiria rolls her eyes.

Lathrik actually jumps a little. "Light's bleedin' — is that necessary?"

Peril gives him a sympathetic look. Joelle claps.

Dane looks up at the trio, working his square jaw as he chews, eyes narrowing in further perplexed wonder.

"Ello Champ," Ozzy says with her mouth full.

Siamus, who is having a light dinner in the form of a glass of whiskey, looks from Fray to Lathrik and back again. Then he turns to Lathrik and raises his glass and greets him straight-faced. "Champion." The glint in his eye belies the bland expression.

The impression of a Champion is not helped by his tail (not literal). Up until this point, Natalyah has been mostly in simple clothing, suitable for working in, or in full priestess nondenominational Light wielding user clothing. But we all have laundry days, and not expecting anything other than an ordinary dinner, Natalyah is dressed in her spare clothing, which means she's wearing a fancy gown, looking more like a fancy noble than she has ever yet for most of the assembled.

It's a shimmering strapped dress that transitions from black at the top to a blue at the bottom, white sequins standing out in sharper relief at the hem, the faintest dusting of brown — it's the Striped Blue Crow Butterfly, and it seems even more unusual with the wearer floating a full foot off the ground.

Natalyah's laugh bursts out at Fray's theatrics, a wicked sound. "Oh, if we're coming up with code names, I must be here for this. I'm claiming 'the Atala' pre-emptively."

Lena smiles a little, as she enjoys her ordinary dinner eaten in an ordinary fashion. She asks politely, "What's the Atala?"

Siamus looks Natalyah up and down appreciatively. Who knew he liked butterflies?

"But there's no red," Bertrand says, blinking at her gown. "That's a different one. Don't tell me, I'll get it."

"Lathrik, Natalyah, there's food!" Estel calls cheerfully.

Shun notes he's being watched, but instead just sets his gaze onto Lathrik and Natalyah.

Ozzy looks at Natalyah, then looks down at herself. The pace of her eating slows; she picks at her food.

Joelle notices the sudden change, and offers her one of his carrots.

Ozzy gives him a little smile, and asks under her breath so as not to disturb more important conversation, "Don't you loike 'em? They're good fer ya."

"Carrots are good," Joelle answers back quietly. "But you like them."

Ozzy just stares at him for a minute, then gives him a bittersweet little slanted smile and takes the offered carrot. "Yer noice," she says. "Always lookin out."

Joelle smiles back, with his eyes at least, then turns his attention to the others at the table.

Dane's squint lingers as he observes Natalyah, or rather, 'The Atala,' floating in to join them. He flits his gaze to Ozzy, but says nothing. At least not yet. He gets back to methodically working towards his daily caloric intake.

Natalyah's face falls at Bertrand's assertion, and there's pain that flashes over her like lightning that she sniffs away. "No. This isn't the Atala. I don't have that one anymore," she says with bravado, like it doesn't still sting just a little. "Peril? Any guesses?" she asks.

"That's a shame," Bertrand says, and shakes his head.

Natalyah floats up to the table, using Lathrik's shoulder to descend and hold herself in place. "The Atala is one of, if not the most poisonous butterflies known. They can cause all manner of adverse reactions with just a single touch of their wings," she tells Lena in that Lecturer voice.

Peril touches his hat, smiling confidently. "Lord Bertrand will get it, he said." He probably already knows the answer.

Natalyah smiles at Peril and swishes her dress in the air, which does weird things to the sense of gravity of her dress, as it leviates around. "Don't worry, Birdie, I never tell," she says, not for the first time.

"I think I've got it," Bertrand says to Peril. "You too? We can guess on three." He holds up three fingers like he's going to do a countdown.

Peril gives Bertrand an eager nod.

Siamus looks between the two men and decides to take the opportunity of a Lepidopterist Society Meeting to step away from the table and cross to the bar. He leans in to say something to the bartender. The man nods with a grin, and the two soldiers seated at the bar both whoop. One of them salutes. Siamus lifts his glass to the pair of them in an amiable return salute and ambles back toward the table.

Dane follows Siamus' departure, and tries to make eye contact, slightly shaking his head in with quiet, curious inquiry.

Siamus catches the look and approaches to stand beside and behind Dane's chair now rather than in his previous place. "Told him I'm buying for everyone tonight so long as they keep to the bar end of the room and give us space."

Dane straightens up and turns his head to the side, toned throat tensing with the exertion, peering at the nearby wall as he listens to Siamus. He grunts and nods slowly, returning to his rapidly diminishing plate.

Bertrand counts very obviously on his fingers: one, two, three.

"Striped Blue Crow!" Peril blurts at three.

"Striped Blue Crow," Bertrand says simultaneously. He grins at Peril.

Shockingly, Aze has no guess on the butterfly dress.

Merelda looks on curiously.

Fray bangs on the table in celebration, then takes a drink.

Natalyah laughs again, an unfettered delighted cackle, as she swishes her dress again, setting off her hair floating around her head. She has to use Lathrik's arm to climb down towards a chair, releasing the [Levitate] as soon as she's close enough, plopping into the chair, and leaning over the table, serving herself before anyone else can try to do it for her.

"Very good," Natalyah tells the boys. "One of the earlier attempts, so it's a bit of a simple one, but we all have laundry days. So, were we doing code names?"

Lathrik slides into a seat beside her. "No," he says.

"We could," Aze offers. "Might be hard enough for everyone to just remember all the names, though, even without codes. We're a big group."

A familiar dark-haired busboy appears to take any plates that have been fully cleared, and refill drinks that need it.

Natalyah stares over at Dane. "And we're one more, again. Who are you?" she asks directly.

Dane takes a single second to finish chewing before he sets his fork and knife down on the plate. "Sir Dane Atley," he says, inclining his head. "And you're The Atala."

Natalyah gives him an impish cackle. She's too far away for a handshake, so she bobs the suggestion of a curtsey in her seat. "Actually, Natalyah Kensington-Whit, formerly of the Elywnn Kensington-Whits until they disowned me, published lepidopterist, Lathrik's girlfriend, scientist of the Light, and a cursed worgen. I've heard your name more than a few times, Sir Atley, probably the only knight of modern times I'd recognize by name alone. I'm expecting to find out that we've somehow recruited Sir Anduin Lothar from the grave next at this point."

Ozzy watches Dane to see if he'll stand.

Lathrik flinches a little. "Oi, that's… I hope not, for what it'd mean," he says.

Siamus has a lot of connections but not that many connections.

Dane does not stand, but he does respond to the suggestion of a curtsey in her seat with a polite, suggested bow in his own seat. He sets his jaw, stern features politely attentive, and nods with a grunt. He scoffs with amusement and raises his diminished whiskey glass. "Light knows we may need him. Let's trust we can let the man rest, my lady. Mm?"

Natalyah is immediately contrite, reaching out to hold Lathrik's hand, since he can't see her face. "Not that way, it was only in jest," she tells Lathrik. "I'm sorry. Besides, we won't need the Lion of Stormwind while we have the Red of Stormwind, right?"

"Time'll tell," he growls confidently.

Dane sets his jaw again and inclines his head with gratitude. He examines the contents of his glass, finds it diminished, and spares no time in pouring himself another tall drink.

A prim-looking woman in a brown tweed skirt suit and tortoiseshell glasses, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek chignon, descends the stairs, carrying a tote bag. She glances at Siamus; he nods back at her.

She does not approach the Frankentable but takes a seat by herself at a smaller table set between the group and the barroom crowd. From her tote bag, she takes out some knitting and begins to work.

"Sir Atley's been working wi' Shine up here," Siamus tells Natalyah. "They were over in Twilight territory just a few hours ago."

Shine takes this for a cue, and slides his now-empty plate away to reach for his rolled papers. He slips free the cord that holds them, and spreads the sheaf flat on the table.

The top one, now revealed, is labeled in an upper corner "TWILIGHT GATE 4 MAY 29" in an architecturally-precise hand. Beneath that is a simple compass labeled with quarters and eighths. The rest of the page is a flat black-and-white inked map of the lower court of the Twilight Citadel area. Several shapes that seem to indicate towers have sharp Xs drawn through them. A cave is noted; the pathways inside it are indicated with dotted lines. There are a few inscrutable numbers written in several places.

Merelda peers at the map from a distance, nodding in approval at the neatness of the hand.

Ozzy leeeeans over trying to see it better, succeeding only in getting a bit of dinner on her dress.

Siamus moves to stand behind Shine's chair and gaze down at the map. His expression is avid; he sort of looks like he would lick the map if he could. (He would not lick the map.) A map.

Dane wedges thick, unarmored arms between himself and the table, bare hands on his greaves. The chair creaks underneath him as he leans forward to sternly regard the map. He nods here and there before shifting his gaze to Shine's face, eyes narrowed with surprise.

Natalyah glances at the map with mild interest, and returns her attention to split between eating and Lathrik's mood.

Shun silently scans over the map, studying it carefully.

Emerine paces around the table to get a better look at the map. She makes a noise of approval as she studies it.

"This is the outer court," Shine tells them. "These are the towers we took out today" — he touches the Xed shapes — "and these were still standing when we left." He indicates some others. "These are elevations," he says, and indicates a couple of the numbers. "Approximate, ye understand. Relative. I wasn't working with instruments."

Aze does not even attempt to look at the map. She does listen.

Lena can see it clearly, seated by Shine.

"This switchback is the road up to the Citadel," Shine tells them. "Stairs here, but then just rough road again. Sightlines on the place are lousy on approach up the hill, but the hill and switchback also mean anyone coming up the path is out of sight for them up top if they haven't got eyes right on it. We took eyes off it — " He hesitates. "We took most eyes off it easily enough today."

He's silent for a moment, and then continues as if he hadn't paused. "Ye can get up there in a couple of places over the ridge too, but ye'd need climbing gear. Too much trouble. From the sky's simple but the riskiest; they've got drakes in the air, and the Bastion overlooks the whole of that upper level. If we wanted to fly in low and land at an edge — hang on."

He lifts the map from the page below it and sets it aside. The page now revealed is labeled "TWILIGHT CITADEL NE 4 MAY 29" in that same precise hand, marked with the compass. Shine lines it up with the page he just set aside; they match up like puzzle pieces, the upward path he indicated leading in at the lower corner of the new page. More buildings are denoted by shapes, and there is a long lake with an island in it. A bridge has been indicated with a crosshatched bar. There are more elevation numbers.

"This is up top. If we flew in low at an edge here or here, or at the side of the lake, we wouldn't call notice."

Dane nods along, tilting his head here and there at Shine's indications. He grunts with approval and shakes his head, muttering something.

"The sky's not secure, but they've lost a number of their drakes today. I warrant they're still losing them. Lirastrasza, the red dragon we rescued, took skyward and slaughtered most of them." Dane explains to the others, before he cranes his head in a nod. "They certainly have some in reserve, more than we can get a proper number on, but there's no better time to fly in our out than now before they can replenish their forces."

Shine nods and gestures at Dane. "And when we go in to scout the plan we can have a fresh look at their numbers. The red — " He pauses again, glances up at Siamus, back to the map. "The red dragons may be bringing in numbers, I can't yet say."

Siamus has shifted a step back from the table and folded his arms. He nods once.

"Bloody brilliant, mate." Dane growls at the map.

Shine glances sidelong. He nods politely to Dane.

"Man was training for a navigator before he became a marine," Siamus says.

"Instruments," Shine says. "Made instruments." He draws a third page from beneath the second and aligns it with the other two. "And that," he says, touching a strange crosshatched spiral at the far end of the map, "is the Twilight Bastion."

"Any notable tactics we should be aware of, since you have been dealing with them out here already?" Almeiria asks. "Besides 'have lots of dragons,' that is."

Dane stands up slightly, and taps the first page, finger thudding through parchment against wood. "Here, they've a healthy contingent of ogres and ettins. Loads. Not your average variety ettin wielding a fallen tree, either. Well supplied, well equipped, with great maces the size of a man — still, just as witless as you'd expect."

He grunts. "The ogres were powerful sorcerers, many with two heads. We cut off the heads of their operation " he flashes Shine a gruff, wry look, " but they still may pose a risk if that portion hasn't been secured. Last we saw, the Alliance forces spearheaded at Victory Point were putting the bulk of them to the sword, but it's entirely possible they've reinforced."

He taps the second page. Thud-Thud. "Here's where you'll find their most trying forces. The place is riddled with Twilight veterans." He raises his gaze to regard them around the table. "Finest swordsmen of the Twilight's I've come across. Bloody experienced, enchanted weapons and all. Armored, but lightly, compared to the Twilight Vindicators. They've full plate, thick shields. Disciplined in comparison, with more magic ability. Spellswords.

"They've also Dark Assassins." He looks to Almeiria. "Shades. Wraiths. Made from the souls of the most skilled killers, says Spymaster Shaw. Many of these ones in particular were once our side, slain SI:7 agents. This'll be the chief obstacle to any of our covert infiltrators. We slew many, but it's difficult to say how many are still lurking about up there."

He takes his finger off of the map. "Lastly, bound elementals roam wth no discernible pattern, enslaved. Once freed, they go mad and charge the nearest Twilights for revenge. Useful, but not subtle."

"We did free a great many of the elementals," Shine says quietly. "And sealed the portals they were coming through. They may be shorthanded on those now. The Dark Assassins I expect will be the worst of it. They're shades that hunt, as Sir Atley says, and if ye kill one and don't dispose of its soul pendant, it seems the Twilights can just summon them back."

"What a miserable way to spend an afterlife," Estel mutters.

Shine nods grimly at Estel.

Shun taps his fingers against the table thoughtfully. Those Dark Assassins certainly sound like they may be a problem. It's a mental note for him to not be captured there lest he shares that fate. "We are not all coming in from the same direction are we?"

"That's what we're deciding right now," says Bertrand, looking at the maps.

Siamus nods at Bertrand. He's studying the maps again himself, brows knit.

Almeiria looks keenly attentive at the mention of soul gems but she keeps her mouth shut.

"Do we have any inkling at all where she might be held? In the Assassin's personal quarters? Or p'raps with other prisoners?" Dane asks.

Ozzy's eyes have just gotten larger and larger throughout this presentation.

Natalyah listens with the attention of a civilian with -50 military experience, if such a thing is visible.

"Wish oi 'ad me 'ole pack," Ozzy murmurs softly, pushing uneaten food around on her plate.

Natalyah bristles, opening her mouth to say something, and then looks at Lathrik. With effort, the technically packless with her non-worgen pack worgen tightens her mouth closed, stabbing her food aggressively. (Great, now she can't eat it. She just stares at the food on the fork.)

Fray shakes his head. "You would have a better idea than I," he says. "You've been closer. Communicating with her was… mentioned as a possibility?" His gaze flicks to Almeiria.

Almeiria, her smile much too sweet, looks to Siamus. "If I may, Admiral?"

Dane looks to Almeiria, his eyes half-lidding once he takes in her expression.

Siamus makes a spread-handed gesture at Almeiria: Be my guest.

Emerine, walking around the table, pauses to pat Ozzy on the head.

Emerine moves quietly enough that Ozzy is too deep in thought to notice her approach and is momentarily startled by the unexpected head pat, but then she smiles at her.

Emerine smiles back, all sharp teeth. "You've got Veyne, and we're with you. You miss them?"

Ozzy admires the teeth. Predator respects predator.

"It's just… Lord Graves would know jus' wot to do wif me. We Grave'owls, we killed ettins, we assassinated a 'alf dozen nobles, we blew up a damn 'Orde airship. But tha' was when we was a we. I dunno 'ow to be an oi."

Emerine nods to her. Predator solidarity. "I get it."

"Oh, you're an assassin too?" Estel asks with friendly interest.

"A bit," Ozzy allows.

Almeiria rises and once again holds a hand towards Fray. Shadows curl around her fingertips, met by responding tendrils from Fray's shoulder. As the two forces meet, Almeiria closes her eyes. Her expression filters between surprise, intense focus, annoyance, and then frustration.

Ozzy watches the magic warily, but curiously.

Siamus is watching Oslynn, narrow-eyed in thought. "I should've thought to ask the man sooner but I can always see whether Graves will come and — " He stops, his attention turning sharply to Almeiria.

Dane lets out a long, drawn out sigh, eyes narrowing even further.

Shine looks at Lena.

Natalyah focuses her attention on Almeiria deliberately, watching in more ways that one.

Estel stops eating. She licks her fingers and then wipes her hands on her skirt.

Eventually, Almeiria waves her hand, as if she has touched something both goopy and disgusting and is trying to shake it off. This almost seems to be indeed the case, as the shadows from Fray's rune cling to her hand until she waves it enough times, breaking the connection.

"Ugh, clingy thing, isn't she?" Almeiria mutters, sitting back down.

"You spoke with her?" Peril asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Fray, too, sits up straighter, and Lathrik drains a mana potion, casually. He's listening.

"Spoke with, no. I'm not sure that woman is capable of speech anymore," Almeiria replies.

Dane shakes his head. "Wot'd you learn?" he asks Almeiria.

"Well, balls," Estel says, frowning. "Is she n'raqi?"

Siamus's expression turns bleak. He watches Almeiria.

Shine murmurs something under his breath at the word n'raqi.

As Lathrik drinks a mana potion, Natalyah starts to try to Sing, and stops after just a word or two, neither of which felt filled with power at all. "What does that mean?" she asks instead.

Shun gives Estel a look that has a hint of confusion. What did she just say?

"N'raqi. Faceless ones." Dane explains mirthlessly. "Powerful servants of the Old God. Devoted to the Twilight's Hammer. They are wretched. Tentacles — " He just gestures in front of his chin.

Ozzy makes a face.

Dane spots the face and looks to her. "They can be taught things like pain. They can learn to fear us."

"N'raqi?" Almeiria laughs a little. "No, no. N'raqi can still speak, though perhaps not in a way most would understand. It's her mind. It's all…" She waves a hand vaguely. "Forming sentences is not something she seems capable of. What I received was… images. Emotions. It seems she is always with that man, but at night, there is a place she is chained to. A building quite near the Bastion itself."

Ozzy's eyes flare with anger.

"Oh, thank fuck," Estel says. She seems to prefer this alternative significantly.

Natalyah growls at the mentioning of being chained, and flinches, enough to set her fork down.

Lathrik offers his hand to Natalyah. Emotional support hand.

Emerine looks to Natalyah. "Not for much longer."

Natalyah takes the hand offered, and then the rest of the arm, as she scoots into his space enough to start encroaching onto his chair, setting her chin on his shoulder, nose touching the side of his neck.

"It means she's still been fighting against him," she says hoarsely. "They don't chain you up if you've given up. Like son, like mother."

"What, precisely, has been done to her? Can ye tell?" Siamus's words are chipped from ice again, but this time the freeze isn't directed at Almeiria.

"Her mind, I suspect, has been broken for quite some time," Almeiria says. "A consequence of overindulging in Their power. And yet she retains some small sense of self. She knows who she is, and she knows her family. If I had to guess, I would say our dear Lathrik here has been unknowingly acting as an anchor to reality for her. Her judgement of course, has been severely compromised, and she has, as many other cultists have, been acting in the interest of bringing about the Hour of Twilight. She is vulnerable to Their voices.

"As for what that man intends… if I were him, I would say n'raqi transformation is very much still on the table. Especially if he is able to break what remains of her will while Lathrik still lives."

Dane looks from Almeiria to Lathrik and back again. He grinds his teeth, slowly forming fists with his hands on the table.

“Then we’ve less time than we thought.” He glances around. “In our work, I noticed a number of gibbetings about the camp. They were empty. No bones or remains. It led me to believe they were keeping the prisoners somewhere else.“

Refocusing on Almeiria, he asks, “Were there any other prisoners near her? When she’s chained up in the evenings?”

Aze, Lena and Merelda are quietly listening through all the strategy discussion taking in information.

"I didn't see anyone else in what fragmented memories I could glean from her, but as Cobalt Company surely knows by now, the Twilight's Hammer likes to make use of their prisoners. It's possible they only held them until their minds could be broken, and then they put them to work somewhere." Almeiria shrugs. "If they are keeping prisoners somewhere, they're likely meant as either sacrifices, or food for those dragons of theirs. I rather doubt dragons are vegetarian."

Dane listens to Almeiria without his regular venomous glare. He grunts faintly and nods in thought.

"If we know where she's about, roughly, a scouting mission may merely tip off the Twilight assassin, with those bloody wraiths roaming. That's figuring if we've the time wot' with the odds they'll want to transform her into a Faceless." He looks down the line of faces at Shine. "Shine and I could pose as prisoners. They know us. Want us dead."

He takes a sip of whiskey. "We gather cultist garb and armor from the slain Twilights at the Thundermar Ruins. You lot dress up, march us all right up to the Bastion in the evening or early morning, when the Assassin'll return for her. We've done it before, recently too, at Hyjal. Butcher him. Rescue her. Have a pre-arranged Wildhammer wing for extraction, signaled by flares we'd carry, popped off at the vectors f'a approach you noted," he says, looking back to Shine.

He inclines his head to Almeiria. "You'd play the leader. That's the kind of place you'd feel most comfortable of us all. You'd sell it well."

As Ozzy listens to Atley's plan, her eyes slowly kindle with a mix of disbelief and admiration.

"Cor," she says quietly.

"I don't like it," Lena says. "We've just talked about all the horrible things they do to prisoners, and you've just said they want you dead. And we hand you two over to them? What if they feed you some will-stealing potion, or simply kill you outright, straight off?"

"Well there'll be a whole load goin' wif em, yeah?" says Ozzy. "Stremf in numbers."

"I doubt they'd kill us straight off," Shine observes mildly. "They'll want information; they know who we work for. And it could serve doubly as a diversion to slip a second team in for safeguard. While we're putting on a charade, Emerine and Shun or the like are making an approach from elsewhere."

"Miss Fey is our expert," Siamus says. "To put her at the vanguard of the thing, posing as one of them — that may only make it riskier, alert the Scarred Man that much sooner, be a danger to her. But if she thinks it's viable…."

Shun's eyes narrow as he listens to the projected plan. Not the most ideal but… He nods to Shine. "I was going to ask if there is anything stopping a smaller group from going in via stealth, away from the rest of you lot.

"What can you tell us of the abilities of the Dark Assassins at their call?"

"They're wraiths," says Shine. "So they can shift. Make the shadow step, aye? To come up on ye sudden, or shift targets fast. They also lay a curse. Don't seem to work in weapons other than blades, nothing ranged — they have the shift for that — and no poisons."

"Oi wanna go wif Emerine an Shun," Ozzy says excitedly. "As a cat I can be real quoiet, an' I moight smell somefing they can't an' warn em, loike. Except them wraiths. Nose probably can't 'elp wif 'at. But if it turns ugly an stealf ain't cut it no more I could distract em as a big bear while they go stabby-loike from be'oind!"

"I could travel with that team, too," Aze offers. "I can be reasonably quiet, and maybe I could complement. Couldn't detect anything by smell, but I might be able to see the wraiths more easily."

Lena still does not look pleased with the plan, but she holds her tongue for the moment.

Merelda looks at Ozzy with concern. She may not have realized 'sneak into a Twilight's Hammer camp' was going to be part of this Ozzy-venture.

"Yeah!" says Ozzy, nodding excitedly to Aze before looking back at Atley with pleading eyes. "Even wif stealf, numbers is good if you work togevver, an if you all see different ways. Grave'owls eavesdropped the Banshee Queen an' found out she was gonna drop plague against Warchief orders, even though some of us was just shopkeepers an' such, an' we all got out safe. Everyone played to they stremfs an' looked out fer each uvver."

Dane shakes his head at Ozzy, but reassuringly. “I’m familiar with the Gravehowl Pack’s reputation. I know you lot tore it up in Gilneas. I’m suggesting we use all of us here, if we’re up to it.” He gives Siamus a nod at his proposition of an assessment.

Siamus considers Ozzy in silence. "Aye," he says. "I may have a task for ye before then, if this is the plan we go with. And ye can show us your work." He glances over at the knitting Miss Curran and then back to Ozzy thoughtfully. "I have a thought, in fact, specific to your lot. Shifters."

He leans over Shine's shoulder to consider the map again.

Shine draws a fourth sheet of paper from beneath the others and adds the final corner to the puzzle: the southern and southeastern end of the Citadel; two altars are marked, as well as the Elementium Mine at the bottom.

He draws back from arranging the map-pieces. As he regards them, his right hand traces an idle abstract pattern on the tabletop, drums a brief, restless staccato.

"Aye," says Siamus, still studying the map.

Ozzy's eyes are now fixed on Siamus; she is practically vibrating.

Merelda looks back to Siamus at that, narrowing her eyes a little.

Siamus gives Merelda a winning smile.

He puts a hand briefly on Shine's shoulder and then steps back from the table again. "As I say, the potential increased risk this plan poses to Miss Fey — risk to the team as well as to her, personally — has to be factored in. She'll know best what complications might arise, and what the Scarred Man might anticipate." He offers Almeiria a polite nod and an expectant eyebrow.

"While I am impressed that you would have me deliver you to the Twilight's Hammer personally, I must ask what your plan is if you draw the notice of Cho'gall. That creature has such a corrupting force, that any extended contact with him — and by extended, I mean minutes — can drive men to madness," Almeiria says. "If you have become as notorious as you say and attracted his attention, well. His appearance would be disastrous for our plans."

Lena looks markedly less pleased with the plan after that information.

Shine glances at Atley. "Safe to say we've attracted his attention," he observes dryly. "Met the thing three times now."

“Can’t say where or wot’ Cho’gall is up to. He’s got the Hammer of Twilight, but he’s suffered a number of losses in manpower and personnel. If I were pressed to wager, he’s drawn back to the Bastion to oversee the defenses, preparing for the Alliance siege. Deathwing’s allies grows short. The pressure is on. I doubt he’d be wandering the camp,” Dane says. “Cho’gall would want notable prisoners brought to him, at the Bastion, directly. F’course, there’s no guarantee here.”

"Cor!" Ozzy breathes.

It's hard to tell if Shun is frowning due to the mask, but the vibes he's giving and the look in his eyes implies there might be one upon his features right now. Or maybe it's just his usual look.

"Then we don't want to make a big scene," Lena points out. "Which this would do. If the half of us are going to disguise ourselves as cultists, why not just do that, and forgo the whole prisoner scenario? Miss Fey can instruct us on how not to draw attention."

"The prisoners would keep 'em from lookin' too close a' the fake cultists," Ozzy puts in. "Loike sleight-ov-'and, yeah? If you want someone to look away from somefing fake, you gotta give 'em somefing real they can't take their eyes off. Uvverwoise, they go straight to lookin' a' the faces o' the cultists an' 'ow they ain't never seen a one of 'em before, yeah?"

Dane looks to Lena. “A group of fresh cultists may be ordered to some other task, far away from the base of the Bastion. They may be investigated closely, and discovered, if they don’t have a shiny trinket with them that draws attention,” he says, nodding to Ozzy again. “Having prisoners would give our ‘cultists’ a reason to make for the Bastion directly. Minimize the potential for exposure. Minimize the questions.”

He grunts. “I’ll not oppose the wisdom in a scouting mission. Nor would I oppose having a number of you capable and willing following along with the ‘prisoner transport’ in stealth, the attention of the Shades and the camp on us as opposed to you, but time’s against us to save this woman.”

Dane looks over the maps again. “We’ve made a friend and ally out of Colin Thundermar. I warrant we could arrange to have him prep a gryphon wing, with a rider and a gryphon for each of us, and a few spares in case of the worst. They can garrison at Victor’s Point. Snatch us up at the first signal. They’ve flown in and out of the Twilight held area before.”

"I've got invisibility potions," Estel chips in. "I can make more if that'll be needed."

Shun nods at Estel. "Are there any materials you need more of?" He looks like he's contemplating something off on the side. "This is… also a rather large group to be attempting a covert operation with."

Shine nods at Shun. Siamus does the same.

Siamus is frowning. He shakes his head slowly. "It sounds a fine plan, but I confess I have the same reservations as Miss Fey and Miss Coit. The pair of ye mean to get in as prisoners to get close to where Mrs. Farrens is being kept, but no one in this room can say what happens to any prisoner as soon as they're brought to that place. Miss Fey has the closest information.

"The plan presupposes ye get in there with minimum trouble due to disguise, find Mrs. Farrens and the assassin, and get out. But tides know whether they'd even let a group of us in the place without first tampering wi'the 'prisoners,' or taking them direct to Cho'gall, or the like. It does us no kind of good if the mission to rescue Mrs. Farrens turns into a mission to rescue the pair of ye as well, with your minds… whatever they do to the prisoners. Not to mention Miss Fey, if she's to go with ye, as she'll surely be recognized by the scarred man."

"We'd be divided in three, wi' two squads unseen" — Siamus leans over Shine to touch the map, once along the eastern ridges and once along the lake — "and those two will providing stealth support below, keeping the wraiths down and watching our backs. But the question is how large would the escort party be wi'the prisoners? Both to look plausible by Twilight protocols and to be effective on our part as needed, if things go pear-shaped wi' Atley and Shine. Those two numbers — plausible and effective — may not be the same."

"It ain't like we tryin'a take out a king an' not be seen an' no one evah know we was there," says Ozzy. "Don't see any way of rescuin' a guarded prisoner loike 'at. There'll be killin', which means more people's better, yeah?"

"Large group for a covert operation," Shine says. "Too small for direct engagement." He shrugs a shoulder. "Don't know how it'll end up actually falling out. Plan's always just a first draft, until you're on the ground." He studies his own maps thoughtfully.

“You’re right,” Dane tells Siamus. “I’d prefer to have us all together on the ground for when, not if, things go sideways. Either as false Cobalt prisoners, or undercover cultists. Some of the best fighters and sorcerers on the continent are in this room. I’d rather not divide us when it’s time to make the key play.”

Dane grunts. “The Twilight’s Hammer are in chaos. We slew a number of their leaders. If we have the right person playing a cultist leader, one supposedly called into the Highlands from abroad to reinforce their local forces, one who’s seemingly managed to capture two high profile enemies, and arrives with a sizable host of other cultists at their command, one who can sell it well,” he says, looking to Almeiria. “It betters our chances of maintaining the illusion of authority among them.”

He pours himself a glass of whiskey. “I’ll hear other plans, regardless, and play my role.”

"Same," Ozzy says eagerly. "Jus' teww me wot you need an' I'll do it."

"Whether it becomes our final plan or no, I am loath to put Miss Fey at the head of the thing. For all her experience and insight, for all the veneer of plausibility she might lend, she's also the person chiefly imperiled here. She is the one the scarred man's been hunting, and we'd be asking her to walk plain into that place and declare herself as a Twilight." Siamus looks to Almeiria again, his brows knit.

Dane considers that, taking a slow sip of whiskey. He looks from Siamus to Almeiria, studying her.

"Do we have someone else who can use shadow, who Miss Fey could coach on how to act?" Lena suggests. "Me, they might recognize the fel over shadow, but maybe one of the other priestesses?"

Dane looks to Estel.

Estel pulls a Shadowform over herself right then and there at the table. She also raises a hand.

Siamus nods to her. "Aye?"

"I can," Estel says, and gestures to Lena. She dismisses the Shadowform.

"Will it suffice?" Siamus asks Almeiria.

Almeiria turns an assessing gaze on Estel. "Only if Estel is able to turn off the perpetual friendliness. Cultists respond to power and confidence, and a desire to deliver the world to their Masters. Deathwing and Cho'gall are important leaders in this, but they are not the Masters. And don't use the term 'Squiggles.'"

Dane grunts in support.

Shun says, "Do not underestimate her."

Estel's eyes flick towards Almeria, and she says scornfully, "You dare question my devotion to the Masters? You know nothing of how I've lived." She narrows her eyes, her face a mask of distaste and anger.

Ozzy covers her mouth and snerks. "Noice."

Almeiria nods approvingly. "That will do."

There's no visible reaction from Shun as she does this. This is what he meant.

Aze laughs. "Yeah, good impression." Of Almeiria? Of a generic cultist? She doesn't say.

Estel drops character to grin at the others.

Ozzy briefly tries a haughty, contemptuous expression on, just for her own amusement.

Siamus laughs at Estel, and inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Very well."

"If we are doing this, then I want to be part of the fake cultist team," Lena says, glancing over at Shine. "I've no skill with stealth, and I can be unfriendly at need."

Shine smiles faintly at Lena. He settles back in his chair and drapes his arm across the back of hers again.

Dane eyes Lena with gruff sympathy. "I would not insist that we prepare for captivity for days, hours, or even minutes. S'merely to get us through the gate, to the base of the Bastion, with Shine and my weapons held and 'confiscated' by you lot. Then we fight our way out to one of the extraction point's Shine noted, after she's been rescued and that assassin's been folded in half."

Lathrik looks like he might want to lean back in his chair, but he doesn't, because it would displace Natalyah. "Will he know I'm coming?"

"Ordinarily, yes," Almeiria says. "But there is a power struggle going on right now. Though one side is clearly winning, it seems your mother has managed to at least keep your location shrouded. That will, of course, fail to hold true once you get close enough, or if something happens to her in the meantime."

Lathrik turns his attention to Siamus. "What are the teams looking like, for this plan? Who and how many would be on each?"

Siamus leans over the map again to contemplate it. "Shun, Emerine, and Aszera." He touches the spot by the ridge again. "Oslynn and Miss Curran." He indicates the lake. "Then Shine and Atley for our prisoners, escorted by Estel, Miss Coit, myself, yourself, and — " He frowns and considers again. "Bertrand will go with Oslynn and Miss Curran. He's a seasoned scout."

Ozzy gives Bertrand a shy smile.

Bertrand grins at her.

Merelda glances over at Ozzy and then back to Siamus. "Will I not be needed with the druids and Lord Bertrand?"

Siamus is tapping a finger idly on the map and frowning at it. He looks up at Merelda. "Ye can be, certainly. I didn't think ye'd like to be. My chief concern in this particular plan is balancing manpower with discretion."

"I'll be with Lathrik, that's the deal we made. But, when we did something before with multiple teams, we had Peril back at one place with two people, so that if anything went wrong, we could summon them back out of danger," Natalyah says, already bristling defensively. "I rode along with Lathrik, but the Shadow Man was still able to see me. But what if we turned that to advantage. If Almeiria rides along with Estel, it'll sell the ruse even more, and Estel can send a signal to extract the 'prisoners' back to the point if we misjudged the danger. On on the other side, if we need Almeiria unexpectedly, or she's in danger at the other point, Lena can summon her."

"Summoning is good, aye." Siamus nods to Natalyah. He studies her and then looks at Lathrik. Then he looks at Almeiria. "Ye say that when Dinnsfield gets close enough, his location will no longer be concealed. How close do ye mean?"

"He didn't sense Lathrik in the same house before, not until Lathrik was within ten feet, but he wasn't looking for Lathrik purposefully then," Natalyah provides, ever the sharing scientist of community effort and free information.

Dane sits back and listens, enveloping his glass of whiskey in two great hands. He stares silently at the map with a glare.

Shun nods as the initial teams are stated. He looks to the two others he has been assigned to. "Just a quick reminder that my primary mission is to kill the Shadow Man."

Siamus nods back at him. "I haven't forgotten. We'll aim to get ye in place."

"Mm…" Almeiria starts to step away from the table, but pauses at Natalyah's assertion. "He has altered the curse itself. It will be his own power that he can feel when Lathrik is within range." She keeps moving, crossing the room to the furthest corner, and stops. She signals the others with a wave. That is, apparently, the range.

Dane turns in his seat to follow her with his gaze.

Ozzy looks between Almeiria and Lathrik curiously, mentally measuring.

Siamus taps his finger idly on the table again. "That's fair close, but it's long enough that the man could be around any corner or a room over and sense Dinnsfield before we see him."
He straightens and folds his arms. "I would suggest that Dinnsfield stay behind at Victor's Point with Miss Kensington-Whit, Mr. Farrens — the younger — and Elle, for summoning people and covering our exit if need be. But that leaves us without a Farrens in the field, and someone will have to identify Solari and possibly persuade her, if she's in a state to be persuaded." He pauses. "We do not have to persuade her, naturally."

"Just take her," Dane asks, glancing up at Siamus.

"Isn't she most likely to recognize Fray?" Natalyah asks. "And vice versa."

Siamus nods curtly at Dane. He looks at Fray and then back to Natalyah. "She may be. But the entire bloody Twilight Citadel is also more likely to recognize us. I mean no offense to Mr. Farrens, who is a dedicated man and a fine warrior, but I do not believe stealth or discretion among his skills."

"Use it," Fray says, sitting up straight. "The tools at your command. I can draw their ire. The full nest of them will have eyes for me alone."

Siamus turns to him and knits his brow. "We are trying to rescue your wife, sir. D'ye mean to bury yourself under the Twilight's Hammer before she sees ye again?"

And then he looks thoughtfully at Natalyah.

Ozzy watches the whole thing like a ping-pong match.

Dane side-eyes Fray and slowly shakes his head. He patiently, but sternly says, "No one man can weather the attention of all the eyes in that nest."

Siamus gestures at Dane again.

"But," he says, and pauses to think.

Peril slowly, hesitantly raises his hand. "I, uh." He clears his throat. "Might need more soul shards."

Fray raises Peril's hand skyward again. "The Chosen One has spoken! We Farrens are a hardy lot. We will show them hell!"

Siamus leans over the map again to rest the knuckles of both hands on the table. Shine, whose personal space is considerably invaded by this maneuver, side-eyes him and then shifts his chair closer to Lena's.

"Where d'ye get soul shards?" Ozzy asks curiously.

"Ye take from the souls of the dying," Shine says blandly. He is practically an expert in warlockery now.

Lena nods and gestures to Shine. "From enemies. So he'll need to go out, at least."

"No, no," says Siamus absently. He is clearly talking to himself. He frowns and adjusts the first map, the rendering of the Twilight Gate area.

"I have two," Bertrand says. He could not look less like a warlock if he tried. He also isn't one. "Though they're intended for an emergency. Paine, the warlock in my old unit, had all of us carry spares. I've got an assortment of standard mage reagents as well — teleportation and portal stones, although that seems less relevant."

Siamus glances up and surveys Bertrand. "Good man," he says. He is clearly impressed.

Dane up-nods. "Wot'll be the objectives for the divided groups? Have we got any way planned for them to communicate?"

"Hang on, we'll come to that. I'm still sorting. Once we know who's where, we'll know what our capabilities are and how they communicate." Siamus leans over the map again, frowning. He touches the cave on the Gate level. "Did ye leave this empty?"

"The cave? Aye. Two ogre mages. We killed them both. Took heads." Shine leans forward over the map as well.

"All right," says Siamus. "All right." He looks up. "I'll want scouts to go in to this area a couple've times before we do this, to make sure this level of the place is staying empty. Your lot cleared the cave and thinned the vermin today, and ye said the Wildhammers were working on the rest of the lot. So I'd like to know how thin those numbers stay and how clear the cave and area around it remain.

"We also need a few people to head north to the Thundermar ruins or the Black Breach and collect Twilight clothing. Peril, ye go along with that lot when they go and collect your stones off anyone they have to kill along the way."

Dane grunts. "I'll venture to Thundermar with Peril and whomever. Explain things to Colin, see wot' corpses he's got on hand that are due for looting."

Siamus nods at him. "Aye, good. Shine, ye were in the Gate area today, ye want to take one of the teams back for a look round?"

"I could go along with Peril," Lena suggests. "Just in case I'm in need of soul shards as well."

Siamus nods again. "Good, aye."

Lathrik glances at Peril. He does not look pleased with the idea of Peril collecting soul shards, but he keeps his mouth shut about it.

As if on a timer — which really may very well be — Natalyah takes a breath to Sing for 8 seconds, rapidly increasing the mana of those sitting around the table. She had been making her way through a silly children's song, but has instead swapped to another, perhaps unable to find hope in the ridiculous with such heaviness of the evening.

Still, when your heart is sore
And the heavens pour
Like a willow bending with the storm,
You'll make it

Again is that sense of an inordinately strong will behind the words. And then she continues on as if nothing unusual has happened. "I think that's a good idea," Natalyah agrees.

Siamus again lifts his head and regards Natalyah a little quizzically as she sings. The expression doesn't seem directed at her, exactly. He seems to be trying to hear something else, farther away, behind the song.

When she stops, he blinks, shakes his head briefly as if to clear it, and drops his gaze to the map again.

Shine says, "Emerine, Shun, Aszera? Takers for scouting wi' me?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Emerine says, and chuckles.

Shine smiles faintly.

"Delighted to," Aze says, flashing Shine a quick smile.

Ozzy looks wistfully at them but does not volunteer.

"So we'll have ye go once… round the middle watch? And then another team go tomorrow to see if the situation on the ground is shifting at all, and which way." Siamus nods.

Estel has been considering something. Now she pours herself more juice and taps the glass lightly on the table. "Hey, Cap'n Admiral," she says. "So I'm thinking, like, I can maybe be the head cultist who does the talking, but we oughta have more folks with us when the thing's done. Shun and Almeiria need to be there for sure, for when we do run into our target. And Fray's gotta be there for his wife, yeah? Maybe he could be another 'prisoner'?"

Siamus turns to survey Fray skeptically. "A prisoner," he considers. "That could work, aye." He nods slowly. "And Shun we'll want to get to the man. Miss Fey, however — I believe her safety is our present concern?"

The question mark is not for show; he's actually asking.

Dane lifts his head and looks over at the singing, a single brow lifted. A lip lifts in a single, half-snarl of confusion. He then slowly looks around at everyone else before he sips his whiskey, gaze shifting to Estel upon her selected term.

Fray rises. "Who among you would try to imprison me?" he booms. It sounds like a challenge. Maybe he plans to… not… go quietly?

"Sit down, man," Siamus says without heat.

Fray sits.

Shine looks a little surprised.

Natalyah doesn't. Some things are a bit like father, like son.

Ozzy giggles at Fray. It's possible she appreciates no longer being the loudest person in the room.

"Which is why she won't be alone, yeah?" Estel gestures vaguely around the collection of tables. "But she said she wanted to be there. She knows him and what he's capable of."

Siamus turns to survey Almeiria now, a brow lifted.

"Much as I would love to have the man simply disappear, the fact is, you will probably need me in the field," Almeiria says. "And besides, if I don't see him die, confirm it for myself, the past will continue to follow me."

Siamus studies her for another moment and then nods. He looks down at the map again, mentally rearranging chess pieces. "All right," he says. "We'll have this: it'll be two groups. Atley will arrange wi'the Wildhammers to have gryphon riders meet us over here when the thing's done. We'll have Bertr– no. Miss Curran, Nightvine, Oslynn, and Lady Merelda come in at that side, across the lake. Their job will be to keep clear that avenue of escape. The assassin-wraiths, cultists, elementals… whatever it is, keep it out of the way so we can get to the gryphons in a hurry.

"Then we'll want — " He looks up at Lena, considers her a moment, and then looks over at Peril. "We'll have Farrens the Younger tucked away at Victor's Point or somewhere closer at hand with Elle and Miss Kensington-Whit, to summon anyone out in a crisis. Miss Kensington-Whit can use the mind vision to travel along wi'the main group and know when it looks like a crisis."

Dane sits up, looks down at the map, up at Siamus, and grunts.

"Anyone on 'eals?" Ozzy queries.

Dane looks to Ozzy and inclines his head with respect.

Ozzy has no idea what to do with the look Dane just gave her. She fiddles with her hair, shifts in her seat.

"I do, as I've said, and I'll be with Lathrik," Natalyah says archly.

"Aye," Lathrik says. "We've a deal. Shouldn't complicate things, she'll be valuable t'have."

"Oi meant on 'is list is all," says Ozzy, wilting at Natalyah's tone.

"It bears repeating. Now's the time for it," Atley says.

Siamus looks up from the map to survey Natalyah and then Lathrik. "All right," he says. "All right. So."

"You'n Lathrik wanna wear some cultist clothes?" Estel asks, looking at Natalyah.

"They'll have to, if they're to be wi' the main group, and that's where I expect we're most likely to need healing," Siamus says, still studying the map.

"I've worn worse," Natalyah says. "Once I start really casting in a fight, I won't have any option other than to shift, but until that point, I could masquerade as a cultist."

"They probably have worgen by now anyway," Lena says.

"Ominous floatin' should fit right in with that lot," Lathrik says, his demeanor relaxed and casual. Which means he is probably not either of those things.

"As shall worgen," Dane says, looking to Lena with a nod. "We killed one amongst them just today. Still, best to keep your forms a secret if you can. It'll be to our advantage."

Natalyah, meanwhile, halts a growl mid-way at the thought of worgen cultists, and breaks out into her delighted wicked laugh, pressing closer to Lathrik. "It's true. And I've been specializing in learning how to heal large groups. There's a chakra state that I can access for it."

Dane furrows his brow in open, irritated confusion but says nothing, yet.

"I would like to minimize the ominous floating, actually," Siamus says dryly. "Maybe a little more moderate floating. We don't want to call any kind of attention before we have to. Just a group of grunts no one has cause to look to hard at, bringing in some lucky catches to draw their eyes."

He pauses. "Right, so then: Our prisoners are Atley, Shine, Farrens Senior. Cultists will be myself, Miss Herald, Bertrand, Miss Fey, Shun, Miss Coit, Aszera, Dinnsfield, Miss Kensington-Whit." He considers this in silence, brows drawn together again as he does some kind of mental math.

"Estel," Estel corrects. "See, this is the problem with makin' up a last name when you're a kid. You put it on paperwork and suddenly polite people never stop using it."

Ozzy's eyes light with curiosity. "You made up yer– " She interrupts herself, ducking down a little. "Sorry. No' the topic." She mimes buttoning her lips.

Estel stage whispers to her across the table, "Yep. I'll tell you later."

Ozzy gives her a shy smile and nods.

Siamus inclines his head to Estel with a faint, ironic smile. "I beg your pardon, Estel. It's a long-ingrained habit, I fear. I do try my best."

"I don't have to float at all. I can use my canes, or I can already be shifted. In that form I can outrun a horse," Natalyah points out. "Floating only makes it easier for me once I start casting for the somatic components."

"Aye, once there's call for anyone to cast, I expect the game is up and we're all going to be a little bloody indiscreet." Siamus nods to her.

Dane growls quietly, perhaps imagining being indiscreet towards Twilight veterans.

Almeiria laughs. It's something close to her true laugh, but not quite there. Then her gaze focuses on Siamus. "Three prisoners is lovely, really, but you know what would make it more interesting? The capture of a certain Admiral of the Alliance Navy." Maybe she's just interested in seeing Siamus in chains.

Siamus turns to survey Almeiria. Oh no, she's doing it again. It might be on again. "A good thought," he muses.

Dane's expression takes on a gruff, wry look. "She's a point, Siamus. These bastards were all over Stormwind Keep. S'a chance they'll recognize you. S'likely your arrival in Highbank's known to some of them."

"Are you suggesting it because you actually think it will really work, or do you just want to see Siamus in chains?" Natalyah asks Almeiria directly, a brow arched up high. "If we're trying to avoid notice, shouldn't we not have a notable prisoner?"

"The truth of it is, we're not going to avoid notice with such a large group," Almeiria says. "Besides, can't it be both?" There is a cold twist to her smile.

Siamus nods amiably. "Aye, it's clever. And the idea is that the higher the sum value of the prisoners, the less likely they are to be searching the escort."

Shine opens his mouth and then closes it again. He folds his arms across his chest.

Ozzy looks at Siamus like she might be imagining him in chains.

Lena looks at Siamus like she really doesn't want to imagine him in chains.

Emerine looks at Siamus as if she is also considering him in chains now.

"Shine and Atley will already be notable, and that's how we mean to persuade our way in," Siamus tells Natalyah. "They've been out here hunting Twilights for weeks, and raided the place themselves only today."

"A greater catch of prisoners'll explain a greater host of cultists to escort them," Dane adds.

Siamus tilts his head toward Atley in agreement.

Natalyah narrows her eyes at Almeiria. "Just remember that after this, I'll remember what your suggestions of expertise were, however this turns out," she warns. "So if you're sure, then by all means."

Dane looks at Natalyah, approving of any hostility sent in Almeiria's direction. He takes a sip of whiskey.

"If it doesn't work, we're probably all going to die," Almeiria says lightly, still smiling.

"Dying is not the only worst thing that can happen to a person," Natalyah says, not at all lightly. "Sometimes what's worse is what you live with, and what you didn't stop."

"Fel yeah," Ozzy says darkly in agreement.

Dane eyes Natalyah for a moment, perhaps with gruff sympathy or understanding, before he clears his throat, looking from Shine, to Siamus, to Fray. "We'll need to be properly duffed up to sell it. I question if Twilight cultists would allow you to keep that patch," he explains once his gaze lands on Shine. "Common clothes. Our weapons carried by our 'cultist' captors. Beaten and bruised."

Fray rises again. "Then come forth and strip me!" he declares.

Ozzy watches to see if there's going to be stripping.

Peril is not listening, la la la….

Lathrik frowns.

Shine's expression freezes briefly at mention of the eyepatch. He sets a hand — slowly, casually — on Lena's thigh beside him, and then nods once at Dane.

Lena sets her hand on his. "We don't need to be like them in all ways."

Natalyah bristles on behalf of… Shine? "It's an eye patch, not a magical weapon. There's no need to strip him of it to sell the story."

Dane looks to Natalyah. "We've been fighting these curs for months. They will strip one of the most basic dignities. P'raps we can fashion a bloody bandage in its stead," Dane says, looking to Shine.

Shine turns a quietly grateful look on Natalyah. He does not dispute Dane.

"Bandage will do," Siamus says. It is the return of Officer Voice.

"Just saying, I'm not holding character if it looks like they're going to do anything irreversible to the 'prisoners'," Aze warns. "So be ready for that."

Natalyah jabs a warning finger at Fray. "The shirt stays on."

Ozzy sulks.

"And it's important to remember that they aren't doing any of this, we are, like Lena says. We don't need to become them in truth," Natalyah agrees.

Shun grunts as he folds his arms over his chest again. He doesn't seem entirely happy with the current plan but not enough for him to speak up against it right now.

Emerine slides around the table some more to approach Fray. "We're preparing a ruse, Farrens," she explains.

"And what better way to trick our enemy than to base it in reality," Fray tells her. "I am Fray Farrens. I would not succumb without a fight."

"I don't doubt that," Dane adds curtly and approvingly to the Loud man.

"We can save that for the day of," Emerine suggests, and smiles at him like she's looking forward to it. "So your injuries will be fresh."

Siamus nods at Emerine. "Aye, closer till."

"You lot gonna beat each other up or wot?" Ozzy looks like she is ready to grab popcorn.

Natalyah eyes the potential victims. "Blood also can be extremely convincing even without a wound. If you bled enough, even if we mostly healed the wound, it would look worse than it really is," she points out. "I've been covered in blood and assumed severely injured more than once."

"As for a cover story, I suggest that Shine and I were to show the Admiral about Thundermar when we were ambushed by Shadow Disciples and overcome. Beaten harshly," Dane says, before he looks to Ozzy.

Shine raises his hand. "I volunteer to kick Fallon's arse," he says politely.

Lena quirks an odd smile at Shine as he volunteers.

"That's the spirit!" Fray booms, his words accompanied by a laugh.

"Not right now," Siamus tells Ozzy indulgently. "When we're near the operation time." He does not say Shine can't.

Ozzy claps her hands and squeals.

Aze lifts her head to Siamus. "If you tell me to, I'll hurt whoever you want. But I'd rather not, even for a ruse."

Natalyah curls up around a little more around Lathrik. "You know, Ren's never going to get over that he missed out being beaten up by a group of men and women," she says to Lathrik.

"Aye, well. He's safe, at least," Lathrik says. "Hopefully. He's hopefully safe." His smile becomes more forced.

"The only thing he's in danger of is a devastating sulk," Natalyah says with more bravado than real confidence. "Ren will be fine."

Emerine chuckles.

"I could use a black eye. Busted beak," Dane says, tapping his nose. "Can do it myself, but I doubt it'll carry the same charm."

"More convincing if we handle each other," Shine agrees. "Every man his fair share of bloody knuckles and defensive marks to sell it."

Shun just grunts.

"All I'd ask is that everyone keeps his teeth," Siamus says, and shrugs.

Aze sits back, a little relieved that so many other people are willing to beat each other up.

Estel turns to Ozzy. "So, like, I never knew who my parents were, they left me at a monastery in a basket as a baby. So I didn't have a last name. I made one up once they started teaching me the alphabet and stuff. Picked a fancy word out of a book."

Ozzy drinks in this brief summary with wide-eyed fascination. "Wowww," she breathes. "Wot a gryte nyme. You're clever as @#$&, you are." Pure sincerity.

Estel grins at her. "Gravehowl is super cool too."

Dane grunts and finishes off his whiskey.

"Can oi get in a 'it on somebody when it's toime?" says Ozzy. She makes a little playful boxing gesture.

"And we can try to carefully heal just enough to keep the look without the real damage if we keep the healing small," Natalyah adds. "Or close enough to the camp to give time before the wounds start to set."

"You can give me your best." Dane offers with a slow nod.

"YES!!" Ozzy pumps her fist.

"I like a spirited lass," Fray says with a grin.

Ozzy returns the grin, lopsided and a little shy.

Estel loads her plate up with seconds.

"I don't want any man actually hindered if it comes to a fight in there," Siamus agrees with Natalyah. "I expect most of us are used to working wounded, but I don't want any of our lot genuinely disadvantaged."

Dane grunts.

"Exactly. And I agree with the defensive and offensive wounds, but to have it said, count me out of the fighting for appearance. I can really only do some harm with the Light which would be pointless in this, or I can rip out someone's throat, not much in between," Natalyah says with the tone of someone who has definitely torn out throats before.

Merelda raises an eyebrow at Ozzy, but doesn't protest.

Ozzy seems to sense the eyebrow and turns to her. "E said. You 'eard 'im."

"I can cut or strike some place if you want more blood. It will not be a lethal blow," Shun offers.

Siamus nods approvingly at Shun. "Kind of ye, thanks."

Shun raises a brow, "I do not think it kind of me to offer to stab you."

Estel snort-laughs.

Ozzy giggles.

"Ye wouldn't be the first man who's done it. Some of them I don't even hold it against." Siamus is grinning.

"I know," Merelda says. "It's consensual, or I might've said something."

"I trust you're grateful to have Lady Merelda watching out for you," Dane says calmly to Ozzy. "We've not all been so fortunate to have such a constant protector."

"You know nuffing of the way oi've lived," Ozzy says in a brooding, haughty tone that is completely ruined by her accent. Then she giggles again.

Dane scoffs with amusement and shakes his head.

Siamus grins at her now.

Almeiria makes a small noise of protest and rolls her eyes.

Estel manages not to laugh, barely.

Merelda can't quite help a brief laugh.

Natalyah's pealing laughter, very much approaching villainous cackle, rings out.

Lena covers a smile.

Aze gives a thumbs-up to the cat worgen seal.

Dane looks around. "I'll see to Colin and arrange the Wing 'fore returning home, unless we've more ground to cover."

Ozzy grins, pleased to have made people laugh. She settles into her chair and pays attention.

Siamus shakes his head and steps away from the table, then pauses. "Oh, aye. We've the whole of the upstairs to ourselves now. The rooms. Shine, if you and Miss Coit wouldn't mind coming across from the keep? Safer to keep all together."

"Well. If this strategy meeting is very much settled, I will be taking my leave," Almeiria says, heading towards the stairs already. "If you need further input from me, I will be in my room."

Dane pushes himself up and slowly replaces his gauntlets, and tugs on his helmet. He reaches for his shield and Thunderfury, extending a hand to Siamus. "I'll be back in the morning to start acquiring cultist attire."

Siamus clasps his hand firmly and nods. "Obliged to ye, Atley. We'll see ye then."

Lena looks to Shine and shrugs. "It might be better to be closer."

Shine nods at her with a faint smile. "Windows," he says, and shrugs.

Shine says to Emerine, "One a.m.?"

Emerine nods to Shine. "I'll be ready."

Shun nods once as he rises to his feet. A hand is held out to Estel.

Dane marches outside and can be heard whistling for Thoras. Loud.

"I'm still eating," Estel says, but she takes Shun's hand and squeezes it once before letting go. "I'll meet you upstairs when I'm done."

With another silent nod, Shun turns to leave to their room without another word.

Natalyah nudges Lathrik, turning her cheeks against his shoulder so he can feel her smile, even if he can't see it. "You ready to go back upstairs?"

"Aye." Lathrik glances at Peril. "Ye got Fray?"

"I don't think it's so much that I have Fray, as it is he who has me," Peril protests.

Lathrik studies him for a moment. "You'll be fine. Elle, ye want to help keep an eye on the both of them?"

Joelle rises, nodding.

"Elle, is it? Good to have you," Fray thunders, reaching out to clasp Joelle's hand.

"Be kind to Elle," Natalyah warns Fray with a baleful look, as she floats ominously up in place above the seat. "And don't just order him about. He wants to help and he's very good at it, but don't take advantage of him. He's our friend, not a servant."

Fray, a man who has never had, and probably never interacted with a servant (to his knowledge) in his entire life, blinks at Natalyah in confusion.

Natalyah might be taking this as agreement. That's right. She floats ominously back into place behind Lathrik.

Lena turns to Shine, and says, "Should we go fetch our things?"

He rises to his feet wordlessly and offers her his hand.

Lena rises, taking his hand, and nods farewell to those remaining in the Common Room.

"Evening," Siamus calls after them, and begins collecting Shine's maps carefully from the tabletop.