(2025-05-26) Downtime at Wyrmrest Temple

Details

Author:	Alli
Summary:	The day after reinforcements arrive at Wyrmrest Temple, people are settling in for a long battle. This log includes conversations with Arric, Hespyth, Kerlo, Ozzy, Raschal, Saion, Zath, Celaven, Corvin, Nesselos, Sil, Stelianna, Cressidha, Estel, Isyldir, Dane, Ismene, Nylarria, Velrin, Sandy, Shine, and Shun. ~14.3k words
Rating:	T for Teen

There's a lull in the waves of combat that have been crashing against Wyrmrest Temple, and those of the defenders that are off-duty are scattered around the center of base of the temple. Some are grabbing a few minutes rest, some are preparing, and some are speaking in quiet voices.

Saion, Corvin, Dane

Near one particular pillar, a blond-haired man sits, carefully cleaning his gun. Corvin's Cobalt guild tabard is clearly visible, and also clearly new — one can still see the creases from where it had been folded. A fox sits daintily nearby, grooming his fur with no apparent concern for the whole siege situation.

Corvin can almost feel the hoof-falls before he sees the enormous draenei approaching. Sgt. Saion is wearing his 7th Legion uniform, and his thick black hair is pulled back in its usual ponytail, looking like it's struggling to be free and possibly explode.

"Friend!" Saion says in a booming voice that causes several people to glance over in annoyance and/or alarm. "Long time no see!" This is not a colloquialism. He literally does not know how to make the proper version of that sentence.

Corvin flinches at the booming voice, and then smiles. "Since early Stonetalon. You're here with your unit? I'm just… a mercenary now." He gestures at his tabard. "It seemed like they wanted people here to help." Gon the fox sits back on his haunches and studies Saion.

"Cobalt Company is good mercenaries!" Saion says enthusiastically. "Very famous, very good. Very respect! I was also Cobalt Company, before 7th Legion. How are you? Were you hurt in battle? Good healers here, yes?"

Saion plops down on the ground next to Corvin, sure of his welcome. His tail knocks over a nearby basket of bandages, which an elderly dwarf woman in a Cobalt tabard hurries to clean up as she tsk tsk tsks. Saion doesn't notice.

"I mostly kept out of the thick of it," Corvin says, setting his gun aside to focus on Saion. "Gon had a few close shaves, but he's more nimble than I am. I think the main thing that hit me… those exploding crystals. Not something I've had experience with before. That I remember."

"Oh yes!" Saion says, nodding emphatically. "I vas hit with black blood! Very pain. Vorse than fire! Then I see clever people hide behind crystals. Is good to see vhat smart people do and do same."

"Yeah, it was good we had smart people to follow," Corvin says, scanning over the temple. His gaze catches briefly on Shun, but then he quickly turns back to Saion. "I bet your team was thrilled to have you back — Ray misses you."

"He does?" Saion's eyes go wide. "I vill find him after battle. Or maybe write letter." Please don't write him a letter, Saion.

Dane marches over to Saion and Corvin, helmet tucked under his arm. His tabard and armor have been recently cleaned. He chews on a long strip of salted jerky before he grunts. “You lot look familiar,” he greets with a subtle wryness.

"Vat are you eating?" Saion asks him. Because that's obviously the way you greet Sir Dane Atley the Red, wielder of Thunderfury, Blessed Blade of the Windseeker.

Dane clenches down on the piece of jerky with his teeth to free up his hand. He reaches into a pouch on his belt and produces another, fresh strip and offers it to Saion. “Jerky. Beef. Wife’sh reshippe’.”

"Your wife makes jerky?" Corvin asks with curiosity. "Useful skill for the trail."

"I vish I had vife," Saion says, accepting the strip of jerky and immediately starting to eat it.

Dane grunts and produces another strip, pinching it between the fingers of his gauntlet, offering it to Corvin. “Find yourshelf’ the right one and you’ll find yourself some peace.”

Corvin reaches forward to take it with a polite nod. "Seems Saion and I have some time yet to do that. Because I'm yet young, and he's kind of immortal, I think?"

"Am I?" Saion says with intense interest.

Dane grunts. “Bloody long lived at the least,” Dane understates, before nodding at Corvin. “I see you’ve joined the Company, then.”

"I… am not sure," Corvin hedges. "How old are you?" To Dane he adds, "Yes, sir, just before this whole mess kicked off. Thought it might be a good place to distinguish myself."

Atley considers this for a moment before he growls with dark amusement and approval, gesturing around at the battered temple. “You’re right. Picked a helluva’ time to jump on,” he muses. He glances over his shoulder at Raschal and Shun before looking to Saion.

"I do not know!" Saion says. "Between one and two hundred!"

"See, that's pretty old to me," Corvin says with a slight smile. "Vaaria thinks I'm a kid, pretty sure."

Saion perks up. "You know Vaaria?"

Dane quietly and casually eats as he looks between them.

"Yeah, she… oh, wow, I guess you just missed her," Corvin says. "She joined us in Stonetalon the day you left, learning from Baalun. She's stuck around for the fight in the Barrens, against the Horde. She did mention she knew you. How do you know each other? Fighter thing?"

"She is vidow," Saion explains. "I cheer her up." He smiles. "In bed!" he explains, in case that wasn't obvious.

That gets Dane’s attention. He faintly knits his brow, and studies Saion for a moment before he scoffs with amusement.

Corvin raises his eyebrows. "That is. Uh. Not what I would've guessed. But I guess that can make a person pretty cheerful."

"I do not know if it vorked," he says. "She still seem very sad. But vas good, to distract. For short time."

Dane shakes his head, teeth briefly exposed with mirth as he eats. “That can be a fine distraction, aye.”

A sharp voice cuts through the friendly bro vibe. A pale man in a 7th Legion robe with a silver streak in his black hair addresses Saion sharply.

"Sergeant," he says. "The captain requires your presence."

Saion gets to his feet immediately, unintentionally slapping [willing player] with his tail in the process. He salutes crisply.

"On my vay!" Saion says. "Goodbye for now, friends."

The black-haired man gives Dane a respectful nod, then he and Saion head off.

Dane turns to the dark-haired man and responds with a respectful nod of his own. “I’m off on a lap, then,” he says to Corvin, tugging his helmet back on. “Welcome to the Company. If you need something, don’t keep it to yourself.”

Corvin stares at the dark-haired man for a long moment, then waves farewell to Saion and Dane. He settles in to enjoy his strip of homemade jerky.

Shun, Raschal

A little further away from the others, Shun takes his time going through all his weapons, examining them carefully for signs of damage. He glances up briefly as he hears a booming voice, but soon resumes his work.

A lanky night elf plops down next to Shun, perhaps less certain of his welcome than Saion was next to Corvin, but not seeming to care much.

"Hey pal," he says. "How bout that giant, huh? With the ooze? That was new." Then he adds in a different tone, "Oooh, I like that one," pointing to a particular weapon. "I need one of those."

Shun glances up as the night elf settles down next to him. His initial response is just a grunt. "A lot of this is new," he states, pausing and raising a brow as one of his blades is pointed out.

"Nice," Raschal says. "Who are your suppliers? Or do you make your own?"

Shun gives the names of a few different smiths. Two in Stormwind, and one in Ironforge.

"Oh nice, I'll introduce myself next time I'm that way. Assuming I don't die here." Raschal says the last in the same tone he might say, assuming I'm not busy with paperwork.

"Try not to die. It would be inconvenient," Shun grunts in turn. Satisfied with the current knife in hand, he puts it away and goes to inspect the next blade.

As if sensing something, or perhaps just out of habit, he looks around at his surroundings. His gaze falls upon Corvin briefly in turn. There's a subtle tilt of his head, but he resumes what he's doing wordlessly.

"Yeah, I'd rather not die," Raschal agrees. "I had some plans for after that are a bit easier to accomplish on this side, I'd imagine. Also Grand Master Sharpgear would probably be pretty upset. He has sure gone to some trouble to keep me alive. I think he likes me."

"Or he at least pretends to do so. Hard to say how much someone like him truly likes anyone. It could be a mask," Shun says.

"Well, he did send Cobalt Company on a rescue mission after me when I disappeared a few years back," Raschal says. "Maybe it was just a waste of an investment, but I think maybe that's as close as he comes to liking people. I'll take it." He grins.

"You may have a point there in that case," Shun nods. He squints at the edge of the blade in hand. Spotting some sort of imperfection, he begins to run it along a whetstone to try and fix it.

Raschal just hangs out quietly next to Shun for a while, gaze roving the temple as the human works.

Dane marches off past Raschal and Shun, grunting at the pair.

Shun glances up to give a grunt and nod at Dane in return as he continues to tend to his equipment.

Corvin, Dane, Sandy, Shun

Sandy comes to join the group, from behind Dane. He sees Dane marching off and says. "Oh, bye Dane!" He clears his throat looking at the rest of the group. "Hi everyone!"

Dane stops in his tracks and spins around. "Sanders," he growls, as if just being reminded of something. He marches right back up to the younger man and clasps his shoulder, though he does it relatively softer than usual, considering his gauntlet. He does give Sandy a vigorous shake, however. "Let's have a look at you."

Corvin waves a friendly hand to 'Sanders', moving over to the two of them.

Sandy smiles. "Don't worry, I'm okay! I didn't even use my leg at all during that fight." he points at his prosthetic. "It even has melted a little from the water elemental's attack!"

Dane releases Sandy and leans back to inspect the prosthetic with a grunt. "Ought to get that seen to. There are many an engineer about." He looks to Corvin and gestures to Sandy. "Gausanders Spellbond. Corvin. Corvin Trent, innit'?"

Corvin nods, with a slight smile. Gon the fox peers at Sandy warily.

"Yeah, that's my name," Corvin nods. "Spellbond — mage family?"

"… Right. I thought I could be like 'that's my battle scar!' and keep the melting as a trophy, but…" Sandy scratches the back of his neck. "Maybe that's not safe."

"Pleased to meet you Corvin!" Sandy beams. "Yeah, we're known for our mages, but we've got all those odd traditions! Like the oldest daughter becomes a mage, and if it's an oldest son, he joins the priesthood!" He shrugs. "There are exceptions, though! My oldest brother became a mage… maybe because he wanted the prestige that goes into being a Spellbond mage?.." Sandy seems to realize that as he speaks.

Corvin looks a little taken aback by all the traditional details. "So… you're a priest? Or…"

"Yeah, I'm a priest! Nothing to do with tradition, though," Sandy chuckles. "Shadow priest. I used to be a warlock, but being a warlock is a bad idea!" He shakes his head. "What about you?"

Dane grunts.

"Warlock, shadow priest, huh," Corvin says, his voice sounded a little guarded. "Quite a background. I'm mostly good with a gun myself."

Dane gestures over to Shun, slightly raising his voice. "That there's Shun. Estel's man," he explains to both of them.

"Hm," says Corvin, who also does not know Estel.

"With him's Raschal. Crowflight, I reckon." he growls, before looking to Sandy. "The man we saved from the Silithid in Feralas. Company courier."

"From the Silithid?" Corvin asks curiously. "Not sure I'm familiar."

"T'was some time ago. I don't often cross paths with him," Dane explains, giving the two rogues a nod.

"Oh, hello Shun!" Sandy beams. "Nice to meet you! Estel is great!" He smiles at Raschal. "I'm happy to see you're still here after we saved you!" he chuckles.

Shun's attention shifts as he hears his name. He looks over Sandy quietly to try and quickly assess him.

"Seems like most people know Estel," he remarks.

Sandy smiles. "She's pretty nice and sociable, that's why!"

"She does certainly have her way around people," Shun nods.

Corvin stands back, tucking his hands in his pockets.

Dane grunts and nods. "I'm properly off, then." he turns and marches off to a handful of 7th Legion knights. After a few exchanged words, they move off to patrol.

Corvin smiles again at Sandy and nods at Shun, and says, "I should see to the perimeter. See you in the field."

Estel, Ismene, Oslynn, Shun, Shine, Stelianna, Arric

Estel, currently in the northeast infirmary (codenamed Blue) picking rock shards out of a soldier's hand, sneezes into the crook of her arm. People are talking about her.

"Bless you," Mizzy says to Estel, putting the finishing touches on a heal for a broken arm.

Estel sniffs and gives her a thumbs-up. "Still a lotta rock dust."

Mizzy looks around and tries to peer at the infirmary way on the other side of things. "I don't suppose you've treated a Worgen? Seventh Legion, warlock? He took some pretty good burns and I thought I got them all but you know how burns are."

Estel starts to nod at 'worgen', then shakes her head at 'Seventh Legion'. "No-ooo, I don't think so."

"Darn. I mean, not that he didn't seek treatment!" Mizzy nips at her lower lip. "Just… he helped me across the battlefield. He even threw me into cover when all that black goo went everywhere, at his own expense. I wanted to thank him. But I suppose the 7th has their own healers."

"I mean, I'm sure he'll be here somewhere," Estel says, gesturing vaguely. "You wanna go on break? Or send someone to ask around?"

"No," Mizzy says with a sigh. "There'll be time, I'm sure. Besides, how many worgen warlocks can there be in the 7th? He should be easy enough to find, right?" She steps back as someone dumps a rock-crusted corpse in front of her, ignoring the babbled explanation of how they just dug him out. Healers live a glamorous life.

"I guess I could ask Celaven or Zath, if I see 'em," Estel offers. (She does, as it turns out, know the correct worgen warlock - she just doesn't know that he's a worgen.)

Mizzy checks the man's mouth to make sure he's not full of rock dust. "I'd appreciate that. He was really quite heroic." She blinks, focusing herself on the task at hand. Golden light infuses the Blue Infirmary and Mizzy can be heard murmuring to the dead dude that he doesn't have to go, he's safe now, it's all right to come back. To no avail. The corpse doesn't believe her and refuses to get up and get back to work. Slacker.

She sits back and shakes her head gently at those who brought him in, indicating that they should take the body elsewhere with the rest of the deadbeats. So to speak.

A large, tawny, wolfish feline with the markings of a druid pads over toward Mizzy and Estel, ears pricked forward curiously.

"You say somefing about Zaff?" she says to Estel. "Askin' Zaff somefing? Oi know a Zaff. Zaff Tyrrell?" says the cat, without changing form. Between the fangs and the thick Gilnean accent, it's a Situation. "Oi could foind 'im I bet. Sniff 'im out."

"Hey, Ozzy," Estel says cheerfully. "That's the one." She checks to make sure Ismene is between patients before introducing, "Ozzy, Mizzy. Mizzy, Ozzy. Mizzy was helped by a worgen in the 7th Legion yesterday and she wants to thank him."

"Ello Mizzy!" Ozzy-cat says cheerfully. "Oh, oi wouldn't fank 'im if oi was you. E's awful grouchy. Also don't bring up 'im bein' a worgen. Even if e's turned right in front of ya. Or even if you IS a worgen, loike me. 'E 'ates bein' a worgen an' e's still mad about it."

"Ohhh," Estel says. She grins at Mizzy and gives Ozzy a thumbs-up.

Ozzy is unaware that they think they are discussing two different people.

Shun finishes going over his equipment, putting everything away. Rising up, he looks around, then makes his way over by Estel to check in on her.

The large tawny feline with the slightly lupine snout looks over at Shun as he approaches. "Oi!" she says, interrupting her own monologue. "Oi know you!"

He pauses, looking over the cat with a tilt of the head. After a moment of putting the voice to an individual, Shun nods, "From the operation in Twilight Highlands."

The cat does a little startle-crouch, ears pinned back, her body language wordlessly demonstrating clear shock that he actually recognizes and remembers her. Then her ears perk up and her tail swishes gently back and forth.

"Cor!" she says. "You don' miss a fing, do ya?"

"I tend to stay on target," Shun comments. It might sound like a joke. He's not joking.

Ozzy's eyes widen, and her tail swishes again. She looks over to Estel.

"Your man's dead sexy, innit!" she says amiably. "Good on you, snaggin' that one!" Before Estel can respond she turns back to Shun to grill him. "So did you foight that giant?? Oi was too far back, foightin' little guys. Probably for the best, I ain't as good as you yet."

Estel laughs, blushing very faintly, and accepts some conjured water from a passing mage. She goes to distribute it.

Shun raises a brow at the initial comment, but says nothing about it in turn. He instead answers the question directed at him, "I helped bring it down, yes. He was… far too mouthy."

"Wos that 'im yellin? Oi could barely see wot wif all the elementals in me face. Oi only saw 'im on approach, an' 'e didn't look loike a fing tha' could talk. Then again, I suppose neiver do oi, roight now, heh heh. So wot was 'e made of? Looked loike rock or somefing from my view, but you were stabbin' 'im roight?"

Shun nods, "Aye. Shouting about he is inevitable and all that. It was… annoying. He was mostly rock-like, yes. But there was something more flesh-like under the exterior."

Ismene waves cheerfully at the introduction, but by the time she's done with her latest patient, Ozzy is in a conversation with Shun. She bides her time.

"Neeeeeeat," Ozzy says enthusiastically to the description, and then looks over at Mizzy again. "Oi ain't met you before," she says. "You're an 'ealer, oi guess? I'm pants at 'ealin', though they tried to teach me. You gotta be too loike, still insoide, an' oi can't quoite get the 'ang of it."

"Still inside is a good description of it," Mizzy says. "Unless you're on the battlefield, then it's mostly screaming and panic and trying not to scream or panic." There's a reason Mizzy isn't usually a battlefield healer, one might suspect. "You said you know this Zath?"

"Yeah, e's loike, me 'benefactor.' Rich bloke, was in the 7th wif me sister Keiley oi guess, though I ain't know nuffing about it. Anyway 'e feels loike 'e gotta take care of me 'cause Keiley bit the big one at Wraffgate. Oi don't get it but oi ain't say no to free money. But e's a grouch. Even when 'e ain't wolfed out."

Mizzy blinks, absorbing all that. "I'm sorry about" Did she say Keiley or was it Kelly with an accent? "your friend at Wrathgate. It's kind of Zath to take care of you, so he can't be that much of a grouch, I wouldn't think. Are there many Worgen in the 7th, do you know?"

"Just Zaff," she says. "E ain't even supposed to be a worgen in it. E was in it from the start back when 'e was 'uman, an' then 'e got wolfed by accident lookin' for me in Gilneas. They got real mad an' demoted i'm. 'E used to be captain of 'is unit an' now e's bottom rung Sergeant. I s'pose I oughter feel loike it's my fault, but I never told 'im to come lookin for me. Everyone always tryin'a save me from wot I ain't asked to be saved from. Oi was doin' foine."

She wasn't doing fine. She was cooking rats in her living room over a campfire made of her own broken furniture. But no one here has this context.

"Oh no, I wouldn't say it's your fault. Unless you're the one who bit him and that hardly seems like something you would do." She says this with all conviction, though she's known Ozzy for about 2 minutes. "It sounds like Zath is exactly the person I need! He was ever so brave on the battlefield, and he kept me safe while I was out there dashing about like a madwoman. I owe him my personal gratitude. He's a warlock, yes?"

"Yeah," Ozzy says. "Real spooky. One of the first ones, they say. 7th wasn't real pleased about that neiver. So e's pissed 'em off twoice, hehe."

Ismene brightens. "How convenient! Now I know two people who know him. I'll have to go seek him out. I'm sure the 7th won't mind if a healer comes wandering around their camps, would they? You've been so helpful, Ozzy, thank you very much."

Ozzy beams! She helped! "Oh yeah, everyone loves an 'ealer. Good luck, don't let 'im boite ya, hehe. Noice meetin' ya Mizzy!"

But Mizzy can't just leave. She's On Duty. She gestures the next in line over and picks up a scalpel, ready to dig out a chunk of rock firmly lodged against a rib. Don't worry, this will only hurt a lot.

Ozzy's ears flatten as she realizes she's done the awkward Gnomish Lift Goodbye. Oops. Since Mizzy apparently wasn't going to - and can't - leave, Ozzy makes the brilliant strategic decision to leave herself, so that her farewell is less awkward. In the process she forgets to say goodbye to the other people she was talking to. Nailed it, Ozzy. Her tail lashes fitfully as she goes.

"Is there anything you need right now, Estel?" Shun asks.

"I only track potion supplies, Mizzy does the rest," Estel says. "Mizzy, is there anythin' we need?"

"The question is also directed at you specifically. Do you require any food or anything right now?" Shun clarifies.

Ismene grins. She tries to hide it but she's bad at that. Her dark eyes glitter and her voice is cheery as she replies, "Nothing I can think of that we need." Might be something you need, Estel. Something tall, dark and stabby, perhaps?

Shun furrows his brow in thought. He's not particularly tall, so clearly Ismene isn't referring to him.

"Oh! I mean, I would love to eat something that ain't conjured mage bread or military rations," Estel says, laughing.

And just like that, Shun produces several options for Estel to have right now. Jerky, fruit, rice balls, or mixed nuts.

Ismene bites her lips. She's not laughing, honest she's not. She looks from Estel to Shun, though, clearly finding the two just adorable. She slaps a heal on the soldier she's treating, followed by a nice little Cure Disease just in case having magical rocks implanted in one's rib cage makes one prone to disease.

Something tall, dark and stabby ambles toward the group.

Actually, at the moment, Shine is looking tall dark and sleepy; he has the bleary squint of someone just awoken from a too-brief rest. It's Shun and Estel he's recognized and so it's Shun and Estel he approaches, but when he asks, "Anyone like coffee?" the question seems directed to the group in general. "Was going to make some."

Ismene looks up from washing her hands. She sweeps a look up and down Shine. "You need rest more than you need coffee," she says gently. "Are you sure you don't want to lie down here for a few minutes?"

Shine gives her a slow blink as mental gears click into place. "Lady Ismene," he says. "I'm quite sure, but thank you." The faint slant of Kul Tiran in his accent a moment ago has smoothed away; it's pure Stormwind now. "Coffee while you work?"

Questions fill Ismene's eyes, but they go unasked. Instead, she says, "Yes, please. Ben'll be by with sandwiches eventually but he depends on me for coffee."

Estel takes a rice ball to eat. "Save the rest, Shun, we're gonna be here a long while. Thanks." She smiles at Shine. "Yes please."

Shun nods and puts the rest of the food away for now. As Shine comes on up, he nods once in greeting before responding, "I will pass on the coffee. Thank you though."

Shine nods. "I'll bring the pot," he suggests, and heads back in the direction he'd come from.

A dark-haired young woman in paladin armor wanders over to the infirmary. Her face is a little pale and there are faint circles under her eyes.

"Do you need any help here?" Stelianna asks in a weary voice, looking from Mizzy to Estel. "I'm off-shift and I can't sleep anyway."

"Here," Estel says, and passes Stelianna a bottle of conjured water. "Drink that. I'm Estel, what's your name?"

Stelianna takes the water gratefully and has a few gulps before she answers. "Stel… Stelianna Thorne. Is Northrend always like this?"

"There you are!" says a friendly male voice as a red-haired man approaches the infirmary group. He appears to be addressing Stelianna. "Are you all right, Miss Thorne? You aren't hurt, are you?" There is an absolutely enormous condor sitting on one of his leather-clad forearms, and a red raptor hatchling tags along at his heels.

"Dunno if I've been here long enough to answer that." Estel shrugs. She gives Arric a lazy wave. "She's here to volunteer."

"Arric," Stelianna says, her eyes lighting with recognition. "I didn't realize you were here. Everything feels so… chaotic. I know it isn't, I'm not criticizing the leadership, it's just… a far cry from planting seeds."

"I spotted you quite some time ago," Arric says with a note of concern, "but I couldn't get to you before I lost sight of you - too many people in the way. I considered sending Singer to get your attention, but she can be a bit alarming, and you were already looking a bit rattled. Incredible of you to volunteer for something like this when you're only just getting started with mercenary work. Such courage!"

Seeming to realize he's just mentioned that his bird is alarming, he gives his forearm a little thrust toward the sky, and the huge condor takes off to find a higher perch.

He turns a warm smile on Estel "Hello, you must be keeping busy. Anything I can do to help? Need someone to run for supplies? Food? I'm Arric, as she said."

"Estel. Hello!" Estel smiles back. "I'm not in charge. Mizzy is. I don't think anyone here is gonna say no to food, but, like, I dunno what the situation is with the going outside and all. Ask Captain Jo, maybe."

Stelianna straightens at the praise, forcing back some of the weariness, and says, "I want to help how I can. I wasn't able to be up here for the war, so…"

"Oh I wouldn't have to go outside! There was a gnome across the way in a Cobalt tabard making soup, and I could swear I saw Lt. Hazan handing out sandwiches earlier. It's astonishing how well prepared and diversely talented Cobalt Company is!" Arric also gives a smile and a bow to Mizzy.

Mizzy looks around her at the between-patients mess and starts cleaning up. Bloody cloths, long enough for people to lie on, go in a pile. Clean cloths that were rumpled, she begins rolling neatly. After demonstrating the technique silently, she hands some to Stelianna. "Lord Falrevere, how good to see you again!" Mizzy says. "Well, despite the circumstances, that is."

Arric's eyes light up as Mizzy speaks to him. "Lady Ismene," he says, reaching out a hand for hers reflexively, but then drawing back. "Oh, perhaps I oughtn't—" He gestures to the bloody things she's been touching. "Apologies."

He bows deeply instead. When he straightens, he's perhaps half a shade paler, but his sincere smile persists.

"It's absolutely tremendous, to see you at work. It's one thing to be told you're a stalwart battlefield healer in addition to the pleasant conversationalist I know you to be, but to see it in person is quite another. You know, there was talk of my becoming a priest, when I was young, but I never showed the slightest knack for it, alas. I've such admiration for the work you do. You will let me know if there is anything I can do to help, won't you, my lady?"

"I will, of course, and thank you for the kind offer. But please, you must call me Ismene. Or Mizzy, if you prefer. It's so much easier to shout on a battlefield!" Mizzy smiles at Arric. "I confess, I'm actually a terrible battlefield healer. I keep wanting to bonk things when I should be healing. I'm much better in the infirmary like this. Is it terrible to admit I actually like it? Gets the adrenaline going and I really feel I'm making such a difference."

"Oh it's not at all terrible," Arric says earnestly. "I feel exactly the same way. I've always been drawn to adventure, to things that make me feel fully alive and in the thick of things, you know? Life-and-death matters really do put one in mind of how very important life is, hm? I think you and I must be alike in that way." Then he laughs good-naturedly. "Appearances can be deceiving, hm? Who'd have thought we lambs a pair of lions?"

He smiles at her warmly, then cocks his head and gives her a searching look. Then he gives a slight frown, but it seems one more of concern than disapproval.

"But my dear lady - Mizzy - I hope you will become accustomed to and comfortable with being addressed as a lady. You will be the Lady Ference someday - Light willing a long time from now, as I wish the current Lord Ference many more years in brilliant service to Stormwind and the Alliance. But perhaps by then, decades from now, you'll not mind being called Lady?" His eyes twinkle playfully.

Ismene chuckles, a warm sound in such a cold place. "My parents would be furious to learn I'd actually gotten a title and declined to use it," she says. "Maybe it's being surrounded by people who have titles and all prefer to be addressed informally. Ben looks like someone filled his shoes with jelly when someone calls him by his title."

At this image, Arric laughs out loud. "With jelly!" he repeats, and then bursts into a fresh cascade of laughter. "Yes, I've noticed that quite a bit in Cobalt Company, and I am trying to adjust. But where I come from, a man in Lt. Hazan's position would likely bloody my nose for addressing his wife in so intimate a way as 'Mizzy.' It's simply unthinkable."

Shine returns bearing a battered kettle of coffee in one hand and a clanking assortment of tin mugs in the other. He takes in the newcomers briefly. "Lord Arric," he says. "Miss." He nods to Stelianna.

Conversation thus dispensed, he settles cross-legged on the floor and begins to pour black coffee. The first cup he sets near Mizzy; the second goes to Estel. He lifts an empty third mug inquiringly at Arric.

"Oh, thank you, sir," Arric says to Shine. "I could use a little something to warm me, and there's no tea to be had. Shine isn't it? You're one of Lord Fallon's." He says this as though being 'one of Lord Fallon's' is akin to being the winner of some sort of lottery.

Shine smiles faintly at Arric. He nods and pours the coffee, then offers it over. "That's right. Have ye seen Lady Sintha? She's about."

Arric glows like a Hallow's End lantern at the mention of his bestie. "She must be at the 7th Legion camp," he says proudly.

Stelianna is steadily — and a little uncharacteristically for her, quietly — folding the bandages as Mizzy had shown her. She nods at Shine when he arrives, and then smiles at Arric at his reaction to his childhood friend.

Mizzy takes a moment to sit and sip the coffee carefully. Her dark eyes track the flow of conversation. "She did join the 7th, then?" she asks.

"Oh yes, and they were brilliant to have recruited her. She's far too clever and courageous to spend her life gadding about at charity balls and soirees, though of course she also excels at that, when she chooses to do so."

"The 6th E.U.," Shine elaborates. "With Tyrrell." He turns to Stelianna. "Coffee, miss?"

Arric's mouth twitches frownward at the mention of Tyrrell, but he does not comment.

"Oh, uh, sure," Stel smiles nervously. "I guess if I can't sleep I may as well be alert, right?"

"I wouldn't drink more than one cup, though," Arric says to Stelianna. "You might find your nerves a bit frayed and your sword hand shaking."

Arric takes a sip of his black coffee, and involuntarily makes the face of a man accustomed to tea. But he then determinedly takes a second sip, and keeps his face under better control this time.

"Oh, wow, no, I wouldn't want that," Stel says, her eyes wide and earnest. Then she adds, "Is there something wrong with Tyrrell?"

"Lord Tyrrell is the master of Drakewatch, the patron of an orphanage, and a member of the esteemed 7th Legion," Arric says respectfully. And … that's it. The normally garrulous man turns his attention to his coffee.

Ismene arches a brow at the bland description, but says nothing about it. She has some discretion. She, too, takes another sip of coffee. "Is the entire 7th Legion here? I'm hearing almost as much about them as I am about Cobalt Company."

"Not the entire, I don't believe," says Arric. "From what I understand, only some of their units are deployed at any given time, while the rest train in Stormwind."

"If there was a reason good enough to bring them all out, I think Deathwing should make the cut," Stelianna says, glancing up at the ceiling.

Shine silently offers a cup of coffee to Stelianna. He pours a fifth cup and then sets the kettle aside and settles to drink his own coffee.

Stelianna accepts it with a smile and takes a sip, then pauses the bandages briefly to focus on the coffee.

Ismene eyes Stelianna, then decides she's not in danger of imminent collapse. "When there's a break in the action — and I've finished my coffee — I really must go to their encampment. I'm looking for someone named Zath. He helped me cross the battlefield and took some fairly grievous wounds doing it. I wanted to thank him for his bravery."

Arric startles slightly. "That's Lord Tyrrell," he says. He looks deeply concerned for Mizzy now.

Stelianna blinks and looks between them. "Is he not usually very heroic and selfless?"

"He is," says Shine mildly. "Bit sharp, but aye. Close friend of Fallon's."

"I don't know him well enough to say," Arric says, and drinks more coffee.

Ismene hides a smile behind another sip of coffee, then says in the same quiet tone to Arric, "I believe I did hear he was… What was the word Ozzy used? Grouchy."

"Ozzy! Lady Merelda's ward? A cursed druid of Gilneas? You know her? I'm meant to meet her, but I haven't yet."

To Stelianna, Shine says, "I'm Shine, miss. Of Cobalt Company."

While Shine is semi-distracted, Arric murmurs quietly to Mizzy, "My dear sweet lady, if you are going to speak with Lord Tyrrell I implore you not to take anything he says personally." His expression suggests that he has taken something Lord Tyrrell said very, very personally.

"Stelianna Thorne," she says in answer, and then adds, "Paladin." At the moment she probably looks more like 'scared teenager'. She hastily starts folding bandages again.

"Stelliana has been most helpful in assisting me in my understanding of the Light," Arric says warmly.

Shine raises his eyebrow and looks from Stelianna to Arric in a manner that suggests — very mildly — that Arric has just implied they've been up to something inappropriate for public discussion. "Ah," he says.

Stel smiles gratefully at Arric and says, "We know two cursed worgen of Gilneas — Thaniel and Kenelly. Do you think they know Ozzy?"

Shine looks up from his coffee and then around. "Is Oslynn here? I've not seen her yet."

"Lady Kenelly!" Arric says, lighting up again. "A dear friend and fellow adventurer," he says. "And I'm getting to know Thaniel as well - he is a most endearing young man. You know, I hadn't thought to ask them about Ozzy, but they are both also druids, surely they must know her."

Thaniel is not a druid, Arric.

"You know the young lady?" Arric inquires in surprise.

Shine nods. "I worked with her recently in the Highlands. Some business for the Admiral."

"Does the Admiral know her?" Arric looks like he is entirely recombobulating his view of the situation.

Stel turns a wide-eyed gaze to Shine, who apparently casually goes on missions for Admirals with worgen.

Shine nods slowly. "Aye, he does. Finds her charming, I believe. She's a Gravehowl. He knows a number of them. Friends with Lord Graves."

"Lord Graves," Stel repeats quietly, as her imagination starts transforming the Gravehowls to another genre. "Are they all terribly deadly?"

"Charming… hm…" Arric looks like he's adding this to an important mathematical equation. "And a Gravehowl, like Thaniel, Mr. Piper, and Lady Kenelly." He then looks around at those gathered, particularly the Ladies, and clarifies, "My interest in young Oslynn is one of duty - Lady Merelda Veyne has asked me to tutor her ward on a subject or two, and the more I know about someone the better for teaching, I find."

"Graves is just his title," Shine clarifies. "Lukas Rhenardt, Lord Graves. No meaning beyond. But Gravehowl's his pack." He turns to contemplate Arric for a moment. "She's… an original young lady. I wish ye both well with the tutoring."

Arric laughs softly. "I've been warned about some of her more 'original' personality quirks by Lady Merelda," he says. "But I feel certain we shall get along well enough."

Stel looks mildly disappointed that the Gravehowls are not terrors of the night, but she nods. "I wonder if I'll run into this Ozzylyn around here."

"I was given no indication that she was an elite mercenary sort," Arric says, "but now I'm hearing that she went on a mission for the Admiral, so I'm less certain than I would normally be of her absence from these premises."

Shine drinks coffee in amiable silence. He may be pondering whether he would describe Ozzy as an 'elite mercenary sort.'"

Arric looks over at Stel, leaning toward her a bit with a sort of solicitous, uvuncular warmth.

"Is the coffee helping?" he asks.

"I think so," she says, smiling over at Arric. "I'll be ready to go back on the defense again in no time. The Aspects are going to defeat Deathwing, did you hear? As long as we can give them enough time for… for their Aspect things."

"That's reassuring to hear," he says with a smile. "I think we're doing quite well so far at keeping those wretched things out of the Temple, don't you?"

Stelianna nods. "No one across the perimeter, not a one. We're good allies."

Mizzy puts her cup down. "Speaking of being good alllies, I think I'll take advantage of this lull and go find Lord Tyrrell. Any last words of wisdom before I brave the wolf in his den?"

"If he belittles you in any way," Arric says gravely, "remember how much you are admired by … happier people."

Ismene laughs lightly. Ha ha, that Arric. Such a kidder. She wanders off in search of the 7th Legion to begin making her inquiries.

Sandy, Nesselos, Isyldir, Saion

It's not much later that a bulky draenei shaman ambles over. "Sandy!" Nesselos says cheerfully, with a wide smile. "Good to see you! How are you? Any bites? Talked to your dad lately?"

Isyldir follows right after Nesselos, a purple raptor with a bright blue underbelly at his heels. "You're Ness's friend? Hi! I'm Izzy, this is Rora."

"Yes, this is Sandy!" Ness says, like he's presenting a real treat to Izzy. "He's a warlock, but he might get better."

"Ness!" Sandy goes to hug Nesselos. "It's been a while!" He turns to Isyldir, smiling. "Hi! Pleased to meet you!"

Ness gives him a biiig hug. A lot of oomph in that hug.

"And no, I'm not… Exactly a warlock anymore. Still am, physically, but I'm here as a shadow priest, now," he smiles as he lets the hug go. He seems to purposefully ignore the question about his dad.

"Oh! That's… better?" Ness says, maybe missing the shadow part. "You're like an anchorite!"

"Oh, wow!" Isyldir holds his hand out to shake Sandy's.

Sandy shakes Isyldir's hand. "At least it's not… permanently altering me!" he chuckles. "Yeah! Like the ones in Auchidon!"

Izzy shakes Sandy's hand with wild enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, before they started… yes, of course! I work for Cobalt Company!"

"Oh, yes, they used to be good anchorites," Ness adds cheerfully.

"Yes, I should have, uh… specified that I was like them before they were evil," he blinks in surprise. "I don't know why I said it like that." He nods at Izzy. "I also work for Cobalt Company!"

"We all have so much in common!" Ness says happily. "All of us Cobalt Company and not evil."

Sandy beams. "That's true!"

Isyldir grins broadly. "Yeah!"

"NESS!" booms a loud voice as a huge musclebound draenei with a semi-explosive black ponytail enters from the direction of the 7th Legion camp. He approaches Ness, Sandy, and Izzy with a confident smile.

He gives Ness a huge, bone-cracking hug, then steps back to look at the others.

"Hello! I vas in 7th Legion meeting, but Captain Hall say I vas not needed for rest of meeting, so I go. I am very lucky; I almost never am needed for meeting."

Ness cracks a few bones back at him with a bright and happy laugh. "SAION! You are an important soldier now! How is the 7th Legion? You must be very important for them not to bother with meetings."

"Vonderful!" he says. "Like family! And so many battles. I am very skilled varrior," he explains to the others. "Also miner, but this - less important. 7th Legion goes to many dangerous and interesting places! Also they give me VERY large sharp sword, best sword ever I had! I can cut elemental or undead like butter, hahahaha!"

"That is amazing! I am a little envious," Ness admits. "I don't have a large sword at all. Only a staff and a bunch of totems. But I am a great healer, and battles need that too! I am tough enough to be in battles, like this one."

Ness looks over to the other two. "Do you know Izzy and Sandy?"

"Not him!" Saion says cheerfully, looking at Sandy.

"SAION!" Isyldir looks delighted. "I haven't seen you since you joined the 7th Legion!" He holds a hand out for a low-five, then a high-five. Secret bro handshake.

Saion grins, his huge hand smacking loudly against Isyldir's. "And here you are now, being big hero! I did not see you in battle! But you did vell I see."

"I was shooting from the back," Isyldir says, and laughs. "Oh! You gotta meet my girl Rora!"

Aurora Over Northrend, a bright purple raptor, stares at Saion. She is tucked close to Isyldir's legs, but she chitters at the sound of her name.

Ness beams, watching the friends catch up. "It makes sense we're all at this battle, because we're all so heroic! Sandy, too!"

"VoooooOOOOOWW!" Saion says, staring at the raptor. "Vhat beautiful dangerous beast! Is okay to pet? Or does she bite?"

Rora looks at Isyldir, confirms that her friend does not seem threatened by this very loud person, and snorts.

"Both!" Isyldir says cheerfully. Pet at own risk.

Saion seems to accept the possibility of Raptor Bite, and also Okay to Pet, and sees no conflict here. He reaches out to PAT PAT PAT the scaly predator.

Rora licks him. It's not a bite. Accepted. She does not seem to care for the flavor, though.

Sweaty draenei is… possibly an acquired taste, it's okay.

"HAHAHA!" Saion laughs in loud delight. "She lick me!"

"She did!" Isyldir laughs.

"She likes you!" Ness enthuses.

"Everyone like me, haha," says Saion. "Even Captain-Sergeant Teel! He make dis face alla time," Saion says with his best attempt at a disapproving scowl - an expression for which his face is ill suited, but one which makes it suddenly quite terrifying, with those heavy black brows of his. Then he smiles again. "But I know he like me! Other people tell me. Also he recruit me. Vhy vill he recruit someone he not like? Smart man, he not do somesing dat stupid, haha."

"Oh yes, actions over words always," Ness nods. "If he did not like you being there, he would make you be elsewhere. Not everybody likes me, but that is okay too! You are like a role model for me in some ways. Anyway, I will do my best to keep all safe one way or other."

Saion gives Ness a hearty slap on the back that might send a smaller man sailing across the temple.

"Vhy anyone not like you, Ness?" he says. "You are vonderful!"

Ness smiles brightly. "Sometimes I think I am too loud for people. Sometimes I am too… maybe too positive? But I trust your judgment, if you say I am wonderful!"

It's possible that literally no one on two planets has ever told Saion they trust his judgment. He just stares at Ness for a moment, amiably baffled, and for once slightly speechless.

Ness beams at his friend with great judgment. "Maybe I can meet your 7th Legion friends sometime? I can introduce you to all the Cobalts I know, too!"

Saion frowns slightly. This means he is thinking. It's hard, okay?

"Maybe Sgt. Fallon or Sgt. Evensong, you can meet," he says. "Others are very shy, or very serious. But Fallon and Evensong are nice, fun, very pretty. If I see them I vill, vhat is vord?" He frowns again. "Introduce!"

Ness claps in delight. "I will be happy to meet them. And I can introduce you to… anyone I know that you may like! Maybe Auralind Mistwalker or Alaisa Lysander or Arthur Reeves! If I see them while you are near."

"Tell me about this people," Saion says. "Such long names! Very interesting. Who are they?"

"People have so many names here," Ness nods eagerly. "It is an effort to keep them straight. Auralind Mistwalker was one of the first Cobaltians! She had a pet phoenix when I met her! Alaisa Lysander is very smart and quiet and also very encouraging! Arthur Reeves I do not know very well, but he is the silver-haired beauty of Cobalt Blade!"

That is a lot of exclamation points.

"Oh, I know Cobalt Blade!" Saion says. "I have every book of this! They are help me to read Common, because so many pictures that show what is happen."

"Yes! They are very famous!" Ness nods. "I would be so happy to introduce you to the Arthur one, and also to talk to him again. I do not think they're here today, sadly. They have gone to Outland."

"How well do you know Artur?" Saion asks curiously. "Are you good friends?"

"Oh yes," Ness nods. "I spoke to him in a bar once." Clearly the best of friends.

Ismene, Kerlo, Zath

The camp is somewhat offset from the general mingling of volunteers and other military types, and between that and their striking uniforms all clustered together and scarcely mixing with the rest there is a definite air of snobbery about the whole thing if you're prone to inferring such things.

But a friendly, platinum-haired gnome in said uniform approaches Mizzy the moment it's clear she's heading toward the camp, and he pushes his goggles up on his head to reveal kind, lavender eyes.

"You're Ben Hazan's wife, aren't you," he says.

Ismene smiles her best smile. Anyone who knows Ben is worth it. "I am, yes. Ismene Hazan." She assays a little curtsey in her blood-splattered healer's robe. Oh well, the tabard's dark color masks some of it.

"Pleasure to officially meet you," says the gnome. "Siege Engineer Kerlo Quarterflash, 9th E.U. 7th Legion. Or perhaps more relevant to you, the future Mr. Jocoza Sparkwire." He smiles, a single dimple appearing in his left cheek. "How can I help you?"

Buh. Link. Etiquette lessons pounded into her from an early age prevent her from yelling. Or revealing her ignorance. But wow, wait'll she tells Ben. "How kind," she manages to say. "I'm looking for a Lord Zath Tyrrell. Would you happen to know where he is at the moment, or where I might look for him?"

"Oh! He's with the 6th; I can fetch him for you if you like, milady." He bows gallantly, causing the goggles to slip back down and perch on the bridge of his nose, where they seem engineered to perfectly fit.

"Oh no, I wouldn't like to take you from your duties," she says, biting back a smile. Gnomes, man. "If you can just point the way, I'd be ever so grateful."

"Oh, very well, let's see." He scans the camp, adjusting a dial on the side of his goggles. "Ah, there they are." He points toward a group of seven including Sintha Fallon, Saion, Celaven Evensong, three humans and a fair haired dwarf.

"He'll be the one with the black hair," he clarifies. The other two humans are a pale-haired woman and a … man who is so nondescript that Mizzy likely forgets what he looks like the second her eyes move away.

Mizzy stands on tiptoe to see the group as a whole. "Ah, perfect! I wouldn't have recognized him as he was in his wolfish state when we met previously." She smiles again at the gnome. "You're very kind. I look forward to the wedding. I do hope it'll be a public one; I'm sure all of Cobalt will want to attend."

"I'm counting on it!" Kerlo chirps. "We've been planning it for months now, and it would be devastating if it was sparsely attended." He smiles, showing his confidence that this will not be the case. "I'm sure you and Ben will be there, at any rate! We'll make sure it's entertaining."

"I have no doubt it will be," Ismene says. She curtseys again. "Thank you, Mr. Quarterflash. Stay safe!"

Quarterflash gives her a cheery wave, then turns back to his comrades.

As Mizzy approaches the area where the 6th EU is gathered, the pale-haired woman in plate armor holds up a hand to halt discussion, her gaze zeroing in on Mizzy. She has a crooked nose and the sort of distant, serious expression that screams paladin.

"Can I help you?" she says.

"Captain," says Tyrrell in a velvety voice rather absent the growl Mizzy might remember, "this is a healer from the battle."

The man in his human form is pale, just on the edge of gaunt. His black hair has a single streak of silver, and beneath it one brow has the same. The eyes are honestly almost the same as the wolf's, a sort of pale, feral blue that seems native to Northrend.

Celaven raises a slender hand in greeting.

Ismene curtseys to the group. She's good at it. "Yes, Lady Ismene Hazan of Cobalt Company," she says. "I was hoping for a few moments of Lord Tyrrell's time, if you can spare him."

He is on his feet before she finishes her sentence. The captain gives him a nod, and he approaches Ismene, his manner cold and wary. His gloved hand takes her by the elbow, completely unsolicited, and steers her away from the group.

"What is it?" he says crisply barely above a whisper, his eyes boring into her with something between impatience and anxiety.

Celaven watches them move off, one eyebrow raised curiously, but he does not intervene.

Ismene beams at Zath. "You wonderful man!" she says, bouncing on her toes in an attempt to throw her arms around him and kiss his cheek.

Perhaps he's spent too much time around orphans, but he instinctively bends slightly once he percieves her intended trajectory. Aside from that, and a single hand rising and hovering as though prepared to steady her if she should lose her balance, he does not respond to the affection in any way, simply gazing off past her and saying dryly, "An interesting assumption that speaks more of you than it does of me. And you are?"

She releases him after a quick squeeze to emphasize the hug. Dropping to her feet, she says, "Ismene Hazan. You must call me Mizzy, however. You saved me at least three times on the battlefield, and took horrendous damage doing so. That sort of bravery must be acknowledged and I regret that my thanks is all I have to give you."

At the mention of her name, his gaze snaps to her and sharpens. He is very attentive as she speaks, but it almost seems as though he's "hearing" something other than her words.

Once it's clear that she's finished speaking, he says quietly, with a very neutral expression, "You're a friend of my wife's."

Mizzy brightens, as much as that's possible given her already shining eyes and lively smile. "I am? How wonderful! Who's your wife?"

"Halliday Bristow," he says. Then adds as a peculiar afterthought, "Lady Halliday Tyrrell."

"Halliday!" she repeats. "But that's astonishing. I'd no idea she'd married! I'm so pleased to hear she made it out of Southshore." That reference dims her brightness, tempering it to something softer and sadder. "Did her family…?"

"I am not on particularly good terms with her family," Tyrrell says sharply. Then he softens his tone a bit and says, "As for the factor of surprise…our marriage was an arrangement that suited both of us perfectly but not one requiring … fanfare or pageantry. And if you are a friend of hers, you know she is not the sort to speak of herself and her personal news with great frequency. She is usually thinking of other things altogether."

There is a little flicker of something in his eyes for just a moment, something almost warm, that gives the indication that his ambiguous words are not meant as insult.

"Well, I'm hardly one to object to marriages of little fanfare. I eloped, quite against my parents' wishes but one can only be obedient so far in the face of love." She gestures back toward the Cobalt contingent. "I'll have to introduce you to my husband at some point. Ben will be sure to show his appreciation of the care you showed me. Though perhaps he'll be a trifle less exuberant about it than I." She grins anew, merry and full of mischief.

One corner of Tyrrell's mouth quirks slightly. "Either way, I shall endure," he says. "But I'd rather think he has more to think of than one soldier doing his duty among dozens. If I understand correctly, he was recently sent on a mission by the Aspect of Time himself?"

"He was, yes. Doing his duty among dozens, one might say." Mizzy wrinkles her nose at him, all in fun. "He never seems to think of himself as doing anything extraordinary. A trait the two of you share, it would seem from what little I know of you so far."

"Which is very little, perhaps to your benefit." His gaze drifts away, then back again. "This does answer some lingering questions I had about your presence here and your demeanor. You are here because your husband is here, and even if a battlefield is not a place you've much experience navigating, you would navigate this, and worse, for him. Admirable."

Despite the direct praise, his manner is still distant, almost cold.

"Yes, I heard someone say the temple was falling and that was all it took for me to act the complete ninny and run across a battlefield with no protection." She shakes her head, babyfine hairs drifting around her face. "So again, I thank you for your bravery and chivalry in protecting me."

He gives Ismene the exact same frown one gives a person who just will not stop bringing up their bowel habits at a party.

"Yes, well, do try to stay alive," he says. "You are not inconsequential."

The frown just rolls off her back. Not literally, that'd be weird. "We're all necessary to the fight," she says. "If you need anything ever, do call upon me. Right now I can be found in the northeast infirmary. Running an infirmary, that I can do! Please don't let me keep you a moment longer. And give my love to Halliday when you speak with her next."

Tyrrell seems to come very near to saying something, something he finds bitterly amusing, but he visibly holds his tongue. Instead he simply gives a formal half-bow of farewell, and then turns to go.

Not in the direction of the 6th E.U., but somewhere off by himself. To broooood.

Ismene hurries away, back to the infirmary before something dire happens and she's not there to un-dire the situation.

Sil, Zath, Cressidha, Hespyth

Coming in from outside a while later, Sil spots Zath brooding alone in a corner of the temple. Ignoring the vibe, he wanders over, raising a hand in greeting.

"Silvestre Silentstep," Tyrrell says calmly, his face unreadable. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"No?" Sil asks, looking at Tyrrell's face like he might read something there. He can't. "I admit I was kind of out of the fight for a while, but I bounced back. Did some work with the fleet, and then with the dragons… which is sort of how I ended up here. I was escorting the guy who was bringing in the Dragon Soul and then… siege. So… how's the 6th these days?"

"We endure, as always," Tyrrell says vaguely. "You were escorting… the 'guy who was bringing in the Dragon Soul'… tell me about that." He laces his gloved fingers together, eyes intent on Sil for the moment.

"Oh, uh, that was Thrall," Sil says, shrugging a little apologetically. "He seems like a good guy, really, now that he's on our side. The dragons trusted him with the Dragon Soul, and I've sort of… worked with him before. I don't think he'll let us down."

Zath's silver-streaked brow rises a half-inch. "When did you work with him before?"

"Back at Nordrassil?" Sil says, and that is not really a question. "The Druids of the Flame sort of like ripped his soul apart. His girlfriend and Cressidha and Alysson and I helped him pull back together. The dragons said he was important, too, for Azeroth."

"And I suppose the dragons would know." It is literally impossible to tell if he is being sincere or sarcastic. He always sounds slightly sarcastic; Sil knows this by now. "And so you got trapped here with the siege. That must be… unsettling."

"Yeah," Sil says. "It was uh… not what I was hoping for. But now things are happening, I plan to stay. It's good to know you and the 6th are there. And so many from Cobalt, and even Aze. Surrounded by friends, whatever happens, yeah?"

"And that why you came over here? To ask how the 6th are faring? Most of the ones you knew are dead." His tone is not harsh, but even in his velvety voice, the wording is rather brutal.

Sil flinches at the words, but he doesn't turn away. "You're not. So maybe I'm here talking to you, because I care about how you're faring."

"You should know better than to ask," he says lightly. "But there must be some reason you inquire about me, hm? Have you heard particular rumors as of late that pique your curiosity?" His cold gaze settes firmly on Sil's again. "Or do you still harbor some lingering guilt over the events at Wrathgate, something that compels you toward closure?"

"That'd be why I didn't ask, exactly," Sil says, with a touch of a smile. Then it fades as he continues, "It wasn't your fault or mine, what happened back then. If seeing me is an unwelcome reminder, I can… keep my distance. But I would rather not. Is that really the only reasons you could think of for me coming over here? Gossip or closure?"

"I'm sure I could think of a thousand reasons," Tyrrell says, his gaze drifting away. "And I could guess them one by one until we were both called back to the battlefield." He does not guess any of them, however, and instead says, "Do not worry that your presence reminds me of Wrathgate. I am reminded daily… not by your or anyone else's presence… but by absences."

"Yeah," Sil says, and looks for a moment like he'd want to hug Zath. He doesn't though, that would probably give the wrong vibes. "Then you won't mind if we talk from time to time? Sort of like friends do, if it's not an imposition."

Zath turns to study Sil again, only the faintest hint of bafflement legible on his virtually impassive face. "I cannot guarantee that I will talk 'as friends do,' as I'm not entirely certain what that entails. But you are welcome to talk to me in any way you wish."

His tone implies that if he tires of it he'll simply take his leave, or some such, draining the warmth from the words 'welcome' and 'wish' like some sort of necromantic spell. He's a fun guy to talk to; no wonder Sil wants to do it regularly.

"You can talk in whatever way you want to," Sil says with a shrug. "As long as I'm not unwelcome, or you'll say if I am. If we were friends, is there any difference you'd like to have in the way we're speaking to each other now?"

Zath gazes at Sil for a moment. "You are a very peculiar person," is all he says. He then sits down with his back resting against something, pulls up his knees and rests his forearms on them. A slight tilt of his head is the only implied permission Sil gets to sit with him.

"It's been said," Sil says agreeably, and then he moves to sit next to Zath in the same position, accepting the implied invitation. "Sometimes people mean good things by that, sometimes not." He doesn't ask which Zath means.

Cressidha Aspenwood has perceived two of her friends, and she approaches Sil and Zath at a calm walk, one hand raised in greeting as she gets closer.

"Have you particular examples?" Zath inquires, his gaze wandering. Then it lights on Cressidha, and he gets immediately to his feet. "Lady Cressidha," he says, and gives a formal half bow.

Sil rises as well, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hello! Off shift in the defense?"

"Zath. Silvestre." Cressidha smiles faintly at the two of them. "I am, yes. You needn't stand on my account, as long as I'm not interrupting…?"

"Of course not," Tyrrell says. He remains standing, however. "You are well I trust?"

"I am, thank you." Cressidha glances at the floor and then pointedly sits down herself, facing the two of them, tucking the fabric of her robe smoothly around her ankles.

Tyrrell sits once she has seated herself, though he adopts a more dignified sitting posture than previously.

"The Cobalt Company newsletters have been quite an interesting read lately," he says.

Sil sits down as well, settling as he was, next to Zath and facing Cressidha. "Yeah? Anything in particular? Depending, she or I might be able to fill in details."

"I would be happy to hear anything you wish to speak about," he says. "But you must be tired enough from doing all of it; I shan't insist upon a recounting."

"Sulfuron Keep was very hot," Cressidha says, very deadpan.

"You know, as cold as it is here, it's rather a relief, after an eternity in the Firelands, isn't it?"

It would appear that Lord/Captain/Sergeant Zath Tyrrell is… discussing the weather.

Sil laughs. "Yeah, I imagine the snow is a nice change. I only helped here and there at the Molten Front. I was at Uldum, though, and that whole troll adventure. Pretty wild that the trolls reached out for help there."

"Curious," Tyrrell agrees.

Cressidha chuckles faintly. "I do prefer the cold. I have not been on a formal Cobalt Company squad in some time, but Silvestre and I were on the team that helped save Thrall from… his soul being split into four elemental pieces? I forget how Jo put it, precisely."

"And what do you think of Thrall, Lady Cressidha? …I imagine he would think a great deal of you."

Cressidha goes 'hm' and folds her hands in her lap. "Thrall is an honorable man who is willing to devote himself to the betterment of Azeroth. He is a skilled shaman who has the trust of the Aspects. He dreams of a safer world."

Tyrrell nods. "He has removed himself from the struggle between the Alliance and the Horde for the time being," he says, "and so the 7th Legion is not obliged to consider him an enemy. Not that my opinion has any bearing on the matter, but for my part I would prefer to turn our forces toward more existential threats. Of which there are no shortage as of late."

"Oh, for sure," Sil nods. "Here against Deathwing feels like the battle worth fighting. As it was against Al'Akir and Ragnaros and their minions."

"Just so." Cressidha smiles faintly.

"It was most obliging of Ragnaros to step out of his bath and put some real energy into eliminating us," Zath observes dryly. "A posthumous medal for effort."

Cressidha laughs, quickly covering her mouth with one hand.

Zath looks like a wild bird just landed on his head - not displeased, but certainly startled, and trying not to appear so much so that he frightens the proverbial bird away.

Sil chuckles. "Deathwing has been putting forth the effort here too, so here's hoping he's just as effective. I hope… we don't have to hold here as long as you all did at the Molten Front, with all the forces arrayed against us."

"I do not know as much of Deathwing and the other dragons as I might," Tyrrell admits. "My focus has been elsewhere these past years. But it seems Cobalt Company has had close dealings with them?" Tyrrell looks between Sil and Cressidha curiously.

"Closer than we would like, in the past, at least with Deathwing," Sil says, sobering and glancing at Cressidha. "But yeah, we've been working with the Aspects on one thing or other for months.”

"Yes," Cressidha says. "My own dealings have primarily been with Kalecgos and the Blue Dragonflight, but I have been acquainted with Queen Alexstrasza as well. My brother's squad worked under Ysera's command in Mt. Hyjal. I have assisted the Bronze Dragonflight in the past, but have not worked with Nozdormu personally."

"Do they strike you as more akin to gods or demigods? Or kings and queens? Is their power innate, or granted to them by their draconic subjects?"

"Innate for sure," Sil says immediately. "I think that was kind of a question with Kalecgos, if he would have the same power."

"Closer to demigods than kings and queens in power and ability, certainly," Cressidha says.

"Fascinating," Tyrrell says. "I've made so many wrong assumptions about them over my lifetime, and now I feel like the boy who neglected a specific area of study with his tutors only to find that it is the most needful subject of his adult life."

"I felt like that myself a couple of years ago," Cressidha says, with a sympathetic smile directed at Zath.

"Yeah, dragons were never a thing any of my tutors thought I needed to learn," Sil says, with a wry smile. "But I did read up on them a lot in the past few years, what people know of them anyway. And Kalecgos did take, I think. He's got the same power as the rest of them."

"Is there anything you can tell me about how that was accomplished?" Tyrrell says. As always his expression is guarded, but a subtle leaning in of his upper body betrays his intense interest.

"It was during the lunar eclipse, for one thing," Sil says, and then tilts his head to Cressidha. "She was there. I just read the reports on that one."

"Arygos and Kalecgos both made speeches to their Flight," Cressidha says. "There was no verbal vote that I could hear, but there was a bit of a light show - shafts of blue light appearing above the blue dragons, and then runes surrounding Kalecgos. And he grew. I'm not doing it justice, it was beautiful to watch."

Tyrrell listens intently.

"Yes, that seems a tremendously powerful force at work. Runes and blue light… clearly arcane in form, as suits the flight. But the flights do not seem to be neatly positioned about the cosmological wheel… there is no dragon of the fel, or of the Light… they seem to answer to another balance entirely. There is so much about the world to understand and so little time to study it all."

"We can use the time we have," Sil says with a shrug, glancing over to a distant column with a lone dark-robed figure leaning against it. Then he looks back to Zath and Cressidha and says, "Turns out I really love learning about stuff, reading about it or going out and learning from the world…" Sil trails off for a moment, and then adds, "Anyway, the flight chose the right one. Arygos was a traitor."

Cressidha nods in understanding. She smiles fondly at Sil.

Zath frowns slightly. "Knowledge is no new passion in my case, whether it be from books or experience. I have done little other than study and travel for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, after a point I chose to specialize, and as they say about specialists, they know more and more about less and less until they know everything about nothing. Any gaps in my knowledge are not due to disinterest in learning, I assure you. Or I would not be asking. At any rate - at the risk of seeming a fool for not already knowing - what is the nature and character of this Kalecgos?"

"I didn't mean to say it was," Sil says, a little puzzlement in his eyes. "And I'm sure you know a lot more than I do about a lot of things. Kalecgos, though, I think I can talk about. He's a lot more interested in the world than most of the blues seem to be, and a lot sympathetic to people like us. He didn't follow Malygos in the Nexus War, for instance, even when most of them did. And he talked about… like what they should give the world, instead of speaking in anger about what they've lost."

"So he is young, then," Tyrrell infers. "Interesting…" He strokes his silver-flecked goatee. "I wonder how this will change how mortals interact with magic. In the old days, arcane magic was addictive and drove many to madness. I wonder how much of that was due to the Aspect's antipathy toward mortals and his own unbalanced state. I wonder if the study of the arcane will be safer now…"

"Huh, I hadn't thought of that," Sil looks curiously at Cressidha. "Have you noticed a positive change, since his ascension?"

"Yes!!" says a breathless voice from nearby. Tyrrell turns sharply, looking disconcerted that he was somehow not Aware of a Listening Party.

From shadowmeld, a pale kaldorei appears, half- crouched as though startled herself, both hands pressed over her mouth, eyes wide with regret. Her cyan hair is long and loose, the upper section braided to keep it out of her face, and she is dressed in a beautiful dark blue and brown robe.

"Sorry!" she says, faintly accented. "Sorry, sorry!"

Sil looks at the newcomer elf curiously. "Are you a mage, too? I didn't know… sorry, I thought kaldorei didn't go in for that."

"H-H-hhhh" she begins. She might be trying to say a word that starts with H, or she might be hyperventilating.

"Highborne?" Tyrrell guesses.

"No!" she says. Then flinches. "Yes! But… I am…. I try to… my name."

"I am Tyrrell," Tyrrell says gently, in a softer, velvety tone he has not previously accessed in this conversation. "Take your time. Words are difficult, sometimes, particularly not in one's native tongue."

"Hespyth!" she finally blurts. "Highborne, yes. Mage. Sorry, sorry, sorry, so many people…" She shadowmelds again.

"Hespyth, you don't have to…" Sil stares after where she vanished."I'm Sil."

"Hello Sil," says a nearby patch of shadow quietly.

"You can talk from the shadows, if you'd rather," Sil says toward the patch of shadow. "If being visible is stressful."

There is no reply from the shadows. Tyrrell looks at Sil and Cressidha and gives a slight shrug.

"Would you care to come sit with us and describe your experiences, Hespyth? My name is Cressidha." Cressidha looks in her general direction.

Hespyth reappears and obediently sits down with the group, her hands visibly shaking. With her eyes downcast, she nods.

"I do not speak your language well," she says. "But I can try. To describe. I am highborne. From Eldre'thalas. I was a gifted mage. When Malygos gone mad, I gone mad. when he died, I lost magic. For a short time. Now, it is new. But it feels better. I can feel the ley lines. They are better now. Like rivers. Not storms."

Cressidha smiles gently at her. "You did very well. Your meaning was quite clear. Thank you for sharing."

Hespyth glances up at her, then back down, then up again. She stares.

"You?" she says. "Cobalt mage, famous. Cressidha Apenwood." She smiles a little dreamily and repeats the last name in Darnassian. "Like an elf name, "she says. Her voice is about 80% breath.

Cressidha sits up a little straighter. "Yes, it is, isn't it? It's a pleasure to meet you." She holds a hand out to offer Hespyth a handshake.

Hespyth just stares at her hand for a moment, and then takes it very gently and leans down to delicately kiss her knuckles as though she were a princess or religious leader.

Cressidha accepts this with very regal bearing, as if this were what she expected all along. "To answer your question, Silvestre, I have not noticed significant changes just yet, but there may be more coming in the future. If anything, magic may feel more… stable?"

Hespyth nods in energetic agreement. "Stable," she says. "Stable, stable, stable."

Tyrrell is watching the exchange quietly. He seems almost to have faded into the shadows himself, though that is not a magical power he possesses.

"It's interesting that the Aspects have such a big impact on things," Sil says. "It makes you wonder what might happen if they're ever able to get somebody uncorrupted for the black flight."

Tyrrell can't help but lean back into the conversation. "Do you think that is possible?" he asks.

Hespyth just keeps staring at Cressidha. Like, really staring.

"Maybe?" Sil says. "I mean, they were able to get a new blue one. Might be that if we defeat him here, like for good, it'll open the way to empower a new dragon… if there is one that's suitable."

"What was his power originally?" Tyrrell asks. "Obviously now his power is bolting armor to his flesh and setting places on fire seemingly at random. But before that?"

"He was the Earthwarder," Sil says. "Guarding the deep places of the Earth. Which I'd guess is how everything went wrong."

"Wouldn't the same thing happen again, then, unless we first kill all the Old Gods?" Tyrrell inquires in the same tone he might discuss, say, weeding a garden before moving plants around in it.

"Yeah, but we've made a good start there, at least," Sil says. "Two down already."

"I was there for the first," Tyrrell says, his gaze going unfocused as he drifts off into memory for a moment. Whatever the memory is, it is clearly Ungood. "I was… not displeased to be shelved for the second."

"I was there for the second," Sil says, with a nod. "The lucid nightmare, it called itself. I don't envy you the first."

"We did not even know if it an Old God could be killed," Tyrrell says, his gaze still fixed on some point in the distance. "We only knew we had to make the attempt. Everyone who volunteered knew there was a nonzero possibility that what we were attempting was simply… impossible." He lets out a strange, sharp laugh. "We were attacking a god. Or a thing labeled one, at any rate. It had never been done, and some claimed it shouldn't be, that we overstepped, that our very attempt was proof that C'Thun's madness had infected us. But the 7th Legion was accustomed to operating in the shadows at that point, free of scrutiny. We were sent where the High Commander felt men and women should go to protect Azeroth from its most dire threats. No matter the cost. We considered ourselves invincible." Another laugh, softer, bitter. "I do not believe he would have sent us, if C'Thun had awakened after Wrathgate."

"He would've been wrong not to, if he didn't," Sil says, peering at Zath. "You all showed it could be done, where others might have failed. I don't want to think of what would have happened to the world if you hadn't. And continuing the fight, however you can, even if you aren't invincible, is even more admirable."

"I hope that the High Commander comes to the same conclusion," Tyrrell says. "What fueled him for so long was the certainty that he had come up with an invincible force, a solution to all the world's problems. Our recent failures in Northrend and Gilneas have -" He visibly self-edits what he was about to say "-given him a great deal to think about."

"Ah." Cressidha shakes her head. "No one is invincible. That does not mean the attempts should not be made."

Tyrrell nods. "I agree. The lack of invincibilty is where courage comes in. This is not so rare a quality on Azeroth as men such as the High Commander apparently assume."

"Maybe times like these will prove to him otherwise," Sil says, glancing up towards the top of the temple.

Velrin, Stelianna, Nylarria, Celaven, Caspis

Velrin enters the infirmary. She's out of her armor now and she gets to work applying strips of cloth over her skin soaked in some sort of ointment. She's been fairly sparse the past few days as she's spent every moment she can spare on the front and she's taking this time to try and recuperate. She's visibly worn out, but her eyes are filled with a cold determination.

Stelianna notices the elf entering, and moves over with her pile of bandages. "Do you need any of these, ma'am?"

Velrin scans over her briefly, "No, thank you. I didn't take any serious injuries in the field. This is just to soothe my muscles and joints."

Stel nods, settling down to continue her work. "All the fighting does make a person sore. I don't actually know if the Light can help with that. If it can, it's not something I can do yet. All I know how to fix it for sure is rest."

Velrin hums knowingly, "That's why I'm here now."

"To rest," Stel says, and there's a weariness in her voice. "I should probably try that again soon myself."

Stelianna finishes her tasks and yawns. She turns to Vel and says, "I think I'll go see to that before my next shift. Hope you're not too sore."

Then she wanders off in the direction of sleep.

Velrin keeps at her treatment when Nylarria limps over from where she had previously been sleeping to help.

Celaven wanders over to the infirmary, nodding to Velrin and Nylarria.

Velrin’s stern expression cracks a little bit at the sight of her lover. It is Nylarria, however, who speaks up, “Celaven.”

Celaven smiles. "How are you holding up, Nylarria?"

Caspis wanders over, looking tired and vague. Well, no more vague than usual, I suppose. He simply sits down with the other night elves like a bird settling into its nest, his leather hood pulled up to hide his singed-off hair.

Celaven reaches over to touch his shoulder as he settles, and then sits himself in their little cluster.

"Are you tired as well?" Nylarria asks. Velrin shoots her a small glare, seemingly upset at being given away.

"I think all are," Celaven nods. "I hope whatever the Aspects are planning, they do it before the defense… they do it soon."

Caspis gives Nylarria a solemn once-over with his gaze, something warm in it even though he does not smile. "It has been a grueling day," he says. "But we are all accustomed to such things by now, hm?"

“I’ve been through worse.” Nylarria says matter of factly. Velrin seems to relax a bit as Nylarria takes over with her bandages.

Caspis nods as though he truly believes this, and is sorry for it.

"I am glad we are all here together," he says after a moment, gazing off at nothing as he softly places one hand on Celaven and another on Velrin, as though they are grounding him somehow.

"As am I," Celaven nods. "It is fortunate the 7th has been deployed to the same fights as Cobalt.”

Velrin smiles a bit, “It is… I’ve missed you.”

"Me as well," Celaven says. "And our family is strong when we fight together. My mother is around here somewhere, too."

Caspis smiles very faintly, his gaze far away.

Nylarria twitches a bit at the mention of family.

"I do include you in that, unless you object," Celaven says quietly, looking over the infirmary.

Nylarria considers for a few minutes, “It is fine. I’m just… unused to these feelings…”

Velrin reaches out to place a hand on her knee.

"Change can be unsettling, even when it is for the better," Caspis says softly, his gaze drifting toward Nylarria but seeming to look drowsily past her.

Celaven nods. "And there is no wrong way to feel about change."

Nylarria nods, “Right… I do feel a bit more at ease when you are near. It’s like the pain subsides just a bit.” Nylarria purses her lips almost in frustration, “It’s quite disarming…”

Caspis's eyes soften as he gazes at Nylarria. "Do not worry that it will make you less effective in fighting those who wish you harm. I have become, if anything, a deadlier predator since finding a small space in which I could feel I was safe and belonged. Every wolf has a den, every raptor a nest."

“I promise you can trust them.” Velrin says softly.

Nylarria remains still but seems to scan the group, “I will have to trust your intuition, Caspis.”

Caspis tilts his head, a peculiar expression passing over his face. "And I… shall have to become accustomed to being trusted," he says. "Just know that anyone I consider part of my family has a tireless protector in me. While I do not make myself a nuisance, as I value others' independence, no one who possesses even the tiniest fragment of my heart need ever be alone when they do not wish to be."

Nylarria looks a bit perplexed by Caspis’s words, but Vel tries to reassure her, “You don’t have to be alone. I’ve been trying to tell you. Once this is over we need to all spend some time together. As a family.”

Caspis nods in emphatic agreement. "And I believe it will be over, very soon…" His gaze drifts upward and away.

"Elune willing it will be so," Celaven nods. "It would be wonderful to be able to spend time together in peace rather than war."

Velrin looks between Ven and Nylarria and smiles.

Celaven straightens. "I should return to the 7th Legion for now. I leave you to watch out for one another." Celaven rises, and heads back over to where the 6th EU is settled.