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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | During the multi-faction operation at Mt. Hyjal, through nothing but coincidence, Roper Sunstrike and Coriene Bloodsong run into each other, and discuss the current intrigue surrounding the survival of Quel'Thalas and the possibility for the future of alliances. Political Intrigue and Faction War RP. 3k~ words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
It is a day of occasional hot falling ash in the Firelands, the only kind of weather this plane seems to see. The fighting is constant at the breach in front of the Sentinel Tree, while the Wardens press the advantage in the Forlorn Spire and the Druids of the Talon push back against the fire hawks and serpent-like creatures in the caverns below. Among the Wardens and the Druids are many others, allies from all over Azeroth who have gathered to defend the one thing they have in common — a desire not to see Azeroth burn.
One of these allies, a blood elf woman with fiery red hair, is working her way through clearing the cavern depths. She wears a red tabard with a golden branching tree over silky red mage robes, which heat from the nearby lava is beginning to make stick to her skin in an unfashionable way. Her bursts of arcane power give away her profession and specialty, though they cease for the moment as one more fire-naga falls. Coriene Bloodsong stumbles back against the wall, irritably lifting her damp hair off the back of her neck for a moment before she sits to drink water from a conjured bottle.
Another fire-naga looking for just such an opening slithers closer into Coriene's blindspot, a gathering flame of sparking pure fire building between two long nailed fingers, about to be unleashed on the mage.
A hand of shadow snakes around the fire-naga's throat, throttling the cast as the fire-naga flies backwards, right into the waiting sword of a death knight. The fire-naga exhales a last gasp, before the death knight separates its head from its body.
"Ah, ah, ah," Roper chides the pieces of fire-naga at his feet, his voice a drawl of lowborn Stormwind, free of any rasp, but a touch of echo lingers in it. "Is that any way to treat a lady taking a well-earned respite?"
The fire-naga says nothing.
Even in his full plate armor — a new dangerous elementium set of spikes and open-mouthed screaming faces — his face completely obscured by a helm fashioned of a wide toothed grinning skull, wearing the Ebon Blade tabard as a dark smudge against the black and purple plate, he's recognizable for those who know him. Frost covers him even in this place, and he breathes out a cold fog when he speaks. He tilts his head slowly to the side, as he regards Coriene.
Coriene startles and whirls to face the naga, just in time to see it die to the death knight's blade. She stares at him for a tense moment before recognition arrives.
"Sunstrike, thank you," she says in Common, breathing out a sigh of relief. "I would have done something, of course. Are you here with others?"
Roper makes a ha sound. "You mean, am I alone, or are we being observed right now by others? No, and no, respectively." He gestures with his right runeblade through some of the other tunnels. "Here with a group of three looking for more of those fucking weird fire plants. All three of which are druids who view me as an 'unpleasant abomination existing in defiance of the natural order', so I've graciously split off to hunt more of these things down just inside shouting distance." At these things, he steps over the dead naga, flickers of blue runic power licking the edges of his runeblades. "Syarra's working up top with those firebirds. Her gargoyles can harry the bastard things, with no risk to anything not already dead."
He inhales the air deeply as if he can smell something in it beyond sulfur and ash. "Ahh, now see, this is the kind of clandestine situation a spy loves. Coincidental meeting. Plausible deniability of conversation. The sounds of fighting to cover a conversation. Extraplanar global threatening war can be so convenient sometimes, wouldn't you say, Magistrix?"
"Convenient, yes," Coriene says, one eyebrow raising briefly. "If only one could simply skip the whole 'global threatening' part. And possibly all the lava as well, it is brutal for one's complexion, not that you would notice. Still, here I am, doing my part, and I am expected back at camp soon, if you're wondering." Somebody knows how death knights work.
Then she takes another sip of water and vanishes the bottle, looking more carefully at Roper. "I would have written again, but it's become more risky in recent months. One has to make one's moves carefully, as I'm sure you're aware."
"If you'd have written during all this, I wouldn't have answered," Roper drawls, as he rests his runeblades just above the ground, his left hand moving as he raises a finger to tap against the metal, the leather cushioning of his gauntlet making it the soft sound inaudible over the restless stirring heat of the underground. "S'what I like about you, Bloodsong. Careful enough to make it worth my while." She can hear the grin, even if she can't see it.
"So, here we are, both doing our part, where people know where we are and what we're doing. At least the Horde isn't that far gone to be so fucking stupid to ignore shit happening here. But then again, maybe they're just in it for the opportunity to fight something."
"You don't want to think of the Horde as a monolith these days," Coriene says, her careful gaze flickering past Roper for a moment, making sure they aren't overheard. "My people are here, and those in the Earthen Ring and the Cenarion Circle. Let us say that some of us are not that 'fucking stupid'. I would not speak for all. It has seemed to me that your Alliance friends are a little smarter, so far. It makes me wonder how enlightened they might be."
"Enlightened enough that when a sin'dorei decided to finally officially leave a Horde she never really joined, a noble house took up the sponsorship of her citizenship for the Alliance," Roper says casually. If he's aware of everything around them, it's hard to tell with the way his attention seems fixed fully on Coriene. He spreads out his arms, runeblades skimming over the surface of the cave in an elegant motion.
"The Alliance always has its idiots and fools, but it's always been good at seeing the big fucking picture. What I hear, plenty of people working with the old warchief even, common goals and all that. Called the alliance for a reason. Meanwhile, it's funny how little I've heard of the current warchief doing anything useful, beyond shouting for the Horde louder and louder."
"The current warchief seems to think that cry means 'for the orcs', as far as I can tell," Coriene says dryly, dropping her volume slightly. "As far as anyone can tell. But it gets harder and harder to hear one another over the shouting, and those who raise their voices to be heard have a way of being corrected."
Cori pauses then, studying Roper. "A sin'dorei left the Horde, you say? I haven't seen Aszera in Shattrath lately."
"Oh, yeah? Not surprised to hear it," Roper shrugs, but there's a sharpness to his gaze behind that helm. "You don't seem like you're around much in Shattrath these days yourself. Especially if being out from behind certain lines gets corrections. Anyone you know get a correction on their political grammar? Or should I be asking anyone you knew?"
"You might've noticed that my people tend to be much more refined in their manners," Coriene says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "But even a careful sin'dorei might slip up on a verb tense in public. I am exceptionally cautious about making sure any experimental grammar is tested out thoroughly in private conversation. For which… if the Alliance seems positive about the return of at least one sin'dorei to the fold, that might be an interesting addition to the conversation."
Coriene touches her tongue to her lip in thought, and adds, "And to speak plainly, I have no intention of harming any of your people. But I am a little troubled not to have heard from your darling sister-in-law in so long. If she's in Stormwind, that explains some things, but… I'm hurt that she didn't consider me as a resource, especially when there's so much I could tell her."
"That so?" Roper leans against the rock wall, runeblades once again pointed down, finger tapping, but for all the casual pose, there's something about him that gives a sense that he's listening to more than Coriene — a precaution against surprise intruders.
"Well, consider me an offering of a more convenient courier system while I've still got the flexibility to speak both political languages," he says, and the rasp is gone, the drawl tucked away. "The Alliance may be in a forgiving mood with former broken off kingdoms and individuals, but only those who've sworn the fuck back in, tied back up in pretty political red tape bows.
"Those on the out? Tempers are rising with every passing month. The assumption is that the guy yelling the loudest, who claims he speaks for them all, really does. Maybe someone could put in a word here and there to remind people he doesn't."
"It would be so helpful if someone could," Coriene says, reaching up to tuck her hair behind one ear. "It might make someone willing to be helpful in return, if it came time where that was needed. I might ask the Alliance to remember that Silvermoon keeps its promises. Exactly its promises. We know our obligations, and we'll meet them, but no further. It's important that old friends don't mistake compliance for enthusiasm." She tilts her head. "Did I ever tell you how Silvermoon decided to go to Northrend, during the campaign?"
Roper doesn't verbally confirm or deny if she has before, or if he knows from some other source, as he makes a universal inviting go on, then, tell me gesture, waiting for her to continue.
"You know of Aethas Sunreaver, obviously — he's not Silvermoon, he's in the Council of Six of the Kirin Tor," Coriene says, stepping over to lean against the rock wall next to Roper. If she's bothered by the proximity of the death knight, she makes no sign of it. "He came to Quel'thalas, asking for our people to send a contingent to rejoin the Kirin Tor for the Northrend campaign. The Kirin Tor is neutral, you understand, and the Sunreavers would be as well — they wanted to drain promising Magisters to the Kirin Tor."
She pauses, and then adds, "Well, or as he put it, restore the ancient friendship between Dalaran and Silvermoon, but it was clear where their loyalty was meant to go. Lor'themar Theron decided this was a noble cause, and sent our people." There's a wry note in this last, and she adds, "Because otherwise, a certain Banshee made clear that we would have no aid from our allies in protecting our lands from the continuing undead threat."
"The Sunreavers were accepted, and they're loyal to the Kirin Tor now, neutral in any upcoming conflict," Coriene concludes. "And you might keep in mind that Quel'thalas does what it does for survival, not out of adoration for those who shout the loudest. But some paths to survival are more preferable than others, and if we were to find a certain one were open…"
Roper tapping is as slow and measured as his breathing — a deliberate choice for the death knight. He makes an amused sound at the mention of the Banshee's conditions.
"Yeah. I get that. Survival and a neutral holdout," Roper says, amusement in his voice. "Neutrality's an interesting idea in theory, standing between various sides with philosophical differences. Reality? One side keeps doing fucking atrocities like Wrathgate. You could see it happening in Dalaran during the war. Neutral, but they leaned Alliance. You and I both knew that. They pull up their neutral feet again, it isolates Quel'thalas from some of their strongest mages. Fucking tips the scales.
"But," he continues, as he lifts a runeblade up and twists it in the air. "Turn that around, and Quel'thalas holds onto the pull of Dalaran's neutrality, keeps them from flipping over entirely, and it gives people a way to fucking actually negotiate with those that otherwise are locked behind a wall. Proves good faith. Like this, out here. The Earthen Ring. Kirin Tor. Keep enough of your people in the 'neutral,' and it gives your words weight when you talk terms."
"That's part of why I was in Northrend," Coriene says, idly summoning a water and then vanishing it. "I didn't trust the goodwill of the Kirin Tor, and I wanted to keep an eye on what happened with the Sunreavers. Lose-lose for us, either we lose the mages or we lose the ties. But there's silver linings — escape hatches, if corrections become too overbearing, though that would be a last resort. And yes, the more we can keep connected to the neutral organizations, through the Sunreavers…" Coriene tilts her head to look at Roper sidelong. "How does the human king feel about neutrality, do you think? Or is he starting to watch people's words, as well?"
That gets a ha! from Roper, an involuntary true response. He flips his runeblade around, spinning it in the air and snatching it back. "The day King Varian Wrynn starts watching people's words for nuance and political grammar is the day someone starts throwing holy water on him to make the dreadlord who stole his body reveal itself," he drawls. "Varian only ever watches one thing — actions. And he goes with his godsdamned first gut instinct.
"But," he continues, again spinning the sword idly in the air. "He's not an idiot. He remembers the past enough to lay an action against it. And Quel'Thalas has shaky ground there with the Alliance from the First War up in being part of the Alliance. In. Out. In. Out. Great technique for fucking, not so great with building trust for an alliance based in careful promises. Neutral organizations though? Hell, Stormwind sets up an office space."
"We keep our promises," Coriene says mildly. "Our debt was to Thoradin, and it concluded with the death of Anduin Lothar, his last descendant. But that's the past, and I prefer to look towards the future. Which, if the Convocation were still in power, I could offer…" Cori trails off. "That's beside the point. But trust must be built on both sides, and the Alliance doesn't have clean hands in that regard either. Surely your own dear sister-in-law has regaled you with that story."
"Yeah. Fucking amateur hour," Roper says, and there's genuine anger in his voice, enough to bring out an echo. "Careful promises, and bad blood got us Horde Quel'Thalas now. But, that's the great thing about rebranding under another banner. Sunreavers, Kirin Tor's neutrality, Earthen Ring. Fresh enough start. And the Alliance is leaning into it. Some of them are even smart enough to know that staying good with a pipeline through 'neutral' works out for everyone when shit hits the fan. Some of them you've even met.
"Varian's shown his willingness to walk back someone leaving, even for those who did it ugly like Gilneas." Roper examines his runeblade, catching bits of the light on the edges, runic power still humming an eerie blue glow around the runes.
"Strategically, Quel'Thalas could be a good first target, setting aside the logistics of how to get to the city itself. But just targeting the sin'dorei? Easier. Clear out a perceived weaker point that Garrosh doesn't seem to give a shit about, hobble the enemy. But, if you put out the possibility that someday they could join the other side, with the right conditions…" He shrugs, a simple right-shoulder up and down. "That's how you keep Quel'Thalas intact, and the aggression focused on the rest. It's a solid strategy. Always respected your political foresight, Bloodsong."
"I appreciate the respect," Coriene says, inclining her head. "And your ability to envision a better future. Conditions can be manipulated, with care, though one can never predict every possible factor. But I try to nudge — and I imagine you've an interest in the subject as well, given your family." She studies Roper, her gaze flicking to the active runesword, and adds, "Your family — Aszera's arcane bindings won't last forever. I could tell a difference, already, between when I saw her Silvermoon, and then again in Outland. That isn't meant as a threat, Roper, it's a warning. I didn't have to give it."
"I'll remember it," he says, sincerity in the tone free of rasp or echo. "And you're right. I've got my own vested interest in seeing Quel'Thalas run the distance. Promises to keep that need it intact. Preferably not occupied by orcs, or worse, overrun by Fucking Forsaken. And I keep my promises."
He steps away from the wall, head tilted to the side, listening. "Speaking of which."
"Your druids are on their way?" Coriene asks, straightening. "Well, this was an entirely coincidental but rather useful meeting. I expect things will get worse before they get better — if you find yourself with a desire for scintillating conversation, I trust you can find a way to contact me. Dalaran remains neutral, and an excellent location for chance meetings."
"Little trickier for me blending into the city now that Northrend's not a hot spot. Hey, if we're lucky, maybe they'll throw the city back somewhere else for the next convenient multi-faction war effort," Roper says as he rotates his blades around like someone warming up his wrists. "You never know."
"I don't blend in," Coriene says, with an arch of her brow. "I go to places where my presence is unquestioned. But we'll see, I suppose, where new opportunities might arise. One way or another, I hope we can keep in touch."
Roper starts off, striding towards the sound of people now able to be heard enough to barely make out a few syllables here and there, echoing through the labyrinthine cave system.
"Count on it," he says over his shoulder, just before he sidesteps around a corner, vanishing from sight.