(2025-07-23) Where We've Been, Where We're Headed

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Author:	Alli
Summary:	Dane and Corvin meet up over ale and apples in Cobalt HQ, and they take the time to get to know each other a little better. ~4500 words.
Rating:	T for Teen

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alcohol, discussion of faction conflict, mention of married partner

Cobalt Company has seen many changes over the past four years. It has grown from a group of maybe a dozen, drawn together by the dreams of Sir Ference, to a thriving and highly-respected mercenary group of nearly a hundred. The company's humble start with the kobolds of Elwynn led them to unmasking dragons in the Stormwind throne room, traveling to another world, defeating the Lich King, and slaying two dragon Aspects.

Still, for all of this rise of fortunes, some things remain the same. The familiar headquarters in Ironforge is still the same comfortable room — with watered-down ale, apples and other snacks on a nearby table, chairs, filing cabinets, and cots for those who need them. And, much as they might have done four years ago, a recent hire has wandered in to help himself to an apple and a drink.

Corvin Trent sits at a table, casually slicing pieces off of his apple with a small knife. His light armor looks in considerably better repair than it did two months ago, even if his blonde hair is just as unkempt. The fox that is usually his soft-footed shadow is nowhere to be seen today.

Marching footsteps overhead announces the arrival of another.

Atley descends the stairs, hand lightly resting on the railing. He wears his sturdy brown work boots, matching gold embroidered pants, and his trademark vest with a long sleeve deep green shirt. His hair has been tamed, at least partially, windswept by recent flying, with streaks of gold sprinkled in amongst the overall oak color.

He stops at the base of the landing and lowers the parchment, spotting Corvin Trent with a squint for a long moment before he grunts and gestures towards the man with the parchment, descending the final step. "I know you," he greets.

Corvin looks over to the new arrival and his spine straightens. He sets down the knife and apple on the table with an air like a potential combatant disarming himself, and says, "Sir Atley, you do, sir. Ashenvale, over by Raynewood. We… were panthers together. Fought orcs. Corvin Trent."

Atley marches over, rolling up the parchment, tucking it into the back of his belt, which carries a brutal-looking vrykul dagger that glows with a blue enchantment, and the Lion Horn of Stormwind. He extends a hand. "Aye, I remember. Made your way here, then?" he asks, extending a hand.

Corvin rises to take his hand in a firm handshake, his gaze flickering over the vrykul dagger and Lion Horn curiously. "Yes, sir. Interviewed back in May, shortly after I started working in the Barrens against the Horde. I expect your word meant a lot, but the officers were fair shrewd questioners as well."

Atley grunts. He marches over to peruse the apples before he picks one and raises to his lips, taking a bite out of it with a hearty crunch. "Aye. They can be particular about who joins and who doesn't." He turns around, gesturing towards Corvin with the bitten fruit. "Wot's your current duty, then?" he inquires casually, cinching the thumb of his other hand into his belt.

"Not sure yet," Corvin says. While his accent is careful Stromwind now, there's still a hint of northern vowels — mountain vowels — in there for those who might recognize it. "I was at Wyrmrest, though you might not've seen me in the defense. I'm more of a trapper and a marksman than close in fighter. Then, I was in Barrens till just before the Horde marched through. General Twinbraid sent us to bring word through to Stonetalon, and then I was back here. Waiting to see which way the war blows, I suppose. And yourself, sir?"

Atley lifts a brow at the noted accent and takes another bite, chewing thoroughly as he listens. “None, for now. I’m waiting for word, myself. The Mithril Order brings me to Ironforge.” He gestures to Corvin with the apple. “I recall seeing you about at the Temple. Wot’ was the fighting in Stonetalon like?”

"It was… fierce," Corvin says, shifting back over towards the table with a faint leaning posture, as he retrieves his apple and knife. "We spent much of the time chasing that Horde bomb — they one they used on the druid school, though there were other sorties along the way. It was that — and the time in Ashenvale — as convinced me I should join up. Can't stand seeing their lot hurting our people, especially attacking civilians. Even in war, it isn't right."

Atley drags a seat out with his boot and sits in it, the furniture squeaking and settling underneath him as he folds his arms. He grunts and nods along, taking another bite. "That is the way of the Horde. They won't stop until they are stopped," he says in a tone of candid agreement. "Where's it you're from, Mr. Trent? You don't sound entirely Gilnean."

"Ah, no, not Gilnean," Corvin agrees, dropping casually back into his own seat and casually slicing off another piece of apple. "Thereabouts, got caught up in the whole worgen situation. I'm bloody lucky I got rounded up when they were collecting the ferals. Luckier still that potion worked, till I could get to the druids and their business. What about yourself, sir? Stormwind through and through?"

Atley shakes his head. "Born in Stormwind. Lakeshire. Came up to Lordaeron after the fall. Returned after the Third War. I claim both kingdoms as an origin," he explains, before he shakes his head. "You're from Pyrewood Village, then? Hillsbrad?" Atley asks, taking another bite, trying to place the accent.

"My memory got a bit hazy after the feral stint," Corvin says apologetically. "Things come back, bit by bit, but still. I spent a lot of time in Hillsbrad…" Corvin's expression hardens a little, his knife slipping on the apple. He carefully angles it away, avoiding injury. "I heard after I came back, what happened with the rotters there. And in Pyrewood."

Atley studies him for a time before he shifts his gaze to the side, and squints at the far wall in thought with a deep grunt. He takes a slow nod and says, "Aye. The Dark 'Lady' made her play. The Horde saw the crisis of the Cataclysm as an opportunity." He looks back at Corvin and sets his jaw, raising his apple in a small 'cheers.' "They'll be made to answer for every atrocity. Only a matter of time."

He up-nods. "How's combat and Company service agreeing with you? Fighting the Horde in the Kalimdor interior's no small bush work. That can be rough country."

There's something flinty in Corvin's grey eyes as Dane speaks, but it fades as he shifts to questions about Kalimdor. "It can be, and was. Hard fought, and we saw our share of loss among the victories. Like the Stonetalon bomb — we evacuated the place in time, but we couldn't stop it. Or Bael Modan, lost the Keep and General's son to goblin sappers. And then, right after I left, the Horde army…" Corvin sighs, eats a piece of apple, and looks up to Dane. "Were you with the fleet that sailed on Orgrimmar, Sir Atley?"

Atley lifts a brow, listens, and provides a grunt before he inclines his head. "I was. That was some fierce fighting as well," he says with a growl. He shakes his head and gestures to Corvin with a small squint of approval. "You lot did some fine work against the Horde. I kept up with your progress. You ought to feel proud." He turns his head to the side. "You've no memory of your background? Not every man can simply survive wot' you have."

"That's not exactly what I said," Corvin says, refocusing on carving the apple for a moment before he continues, "The curse is what it is, but it's made me stronger. And I've been a fair shot since I was young, and got decent at hand-to-hand as well in the past few years. What about yourself? Were you a knight before Cobalt?"

Atley lifts a brow, but scoffs with faint amusement before he shakes his head. "No. I was knighted after I'd joined the Company. Two years in." He takes another bite — he's rapidly running out of them. "Before that, I was in the Army of Lordaeron, during the Third War." He shakes his head. "You may've been the first … 'cured' worgen I met, outside of the envoy to Darnassus, to welcome Gilneas into the Alliance."

"At that time, when the Gilneans were being welcomed, I was probably still running around somewhere wild, probably in Silverpine or some such," Corvin shrugs. "They didn't get me till a bit later, and I stuck around the area for a while. I hope I'm giving a good impression. It's not really an identity I chose, but then I think most of the worgen didn't. That is, save some of the Hillsbrad survivors — turns out the curse protects from reanimation."

Corvin eats another piece of apple. "Army of Lordaeron, though — what made you choose Cobalt over Stormwind Army, after that?"

Atley grunts.

He takes the last bite of the apple and stands, marching over to throw it away before returning to the table, reclaiming his seat, and folding his arms. "I had fought with the Lordaeron Brigade under Lady Jaina Proudmoore. I was at Theramore when we were ordered to stand down while Lord Admiral Proudmoore was killed." He shakes his head. "I put in my papers to leave the next day — as did many others. Many didn't wait to be discharged, of course, and buggered off into the swamp." He raises a hand to itch at his jaw, looking away, before he glances back at Corvin.

"I'd lost a good deal of faith in the ruling class of the Alliance. I drifted and came across a Cobalt Company flier in Goldshire. Found something, and someone, worth fighting for."

"The Alliance makes some bad calls sometimes," Corvin agrees casually, as if this is a common view. "Maybe it's better to find somebody you trust, somebody who seems to make the right calls. And Theramore… why would they ask you to watch a Lord Admiral killed? That seems… insane."

Atley frowns in thought. "You're not aware of wot' happened with the Lord Admiral?" he asks.

Corvin shrugs uncomfortably, and says, "I guess I was kind of a kid at the time, and that was so far away. My world would've been smaller then."

Atley grunts and looks away for a long moment.

"After the Third War, we ventured south — the Brigade, into Dustwallow Marsh. We carved out a foothold in the land there. Brought civilization to the land. Paved roads, built homes, laid the foundations for towers and keeps. Treacherous business. Heat, humidity, flies the size of quills." He works his jaw. "There was a tenuous peace 'tween us and the Horde as they established Orgrimmar, and pacified Durotar, but there were many of us who weren't too bloody keen to see how solidly they were digging in on Kalimdor."

He itches the side of his jaw again. "Then came the Lord Admiral, with a fleet, armed to the teeth. Light knows he was a sight for sore eyes — to see the might of a kingdom of humanity that hadn't been dimmed by the Scourge. A true hero of the Second War. He'd been chasing the orcs that had escaped internment and stolen Alliance ships, out of Southshore, to sail west to Kalimdor. He also came to check up on the survivors of Lordaeron … to see to his daughter."

Once he'd learned that Lady Jaina had been conferring with members of the Horde, he took command of Theramore and the nearby outposts. I'm proud to say I fought for him …" he pauses, look darkening. "Briefly."

"Lady Jaina assisted the Horde. Helped secure them their own vessels. Helped them destroy our own." He inhales slowly and lets it out in a long breath. "Then, once she took command of the garrison, she ordered us to stand down."

He grunts and shakes his head, looking back at Corvin. "The Lord Admiral was overwhelmed by the Horde and killed. Upon his death, those of his fleet that survived left, returning to Kul Tiras. The Horde vanguard was made up of a half-breed, an ogre and orc spawn, a witchdoctor, and some sort of … furbolg, the likes of which I've yet to see again."

Corvin listens to the story with growing horror. "What could have possessed her to turn against her own people? Maybe the Horde had promised her troops would be spared…? But still, Lady Jaina kept Theramore — she's welcome in Stormwind, even after such a betrayal. I don't understand the forgiveness."

Atley slightly tilts his head back and forth. "The Lord Admiral was of Kul Tiras. By then, the Alliance of Lordaeron had officially ended, but Kul Tiras and Lordaeron — or wot' was left of her — were allies. He was 'officially' a foreign leader who'd commandeered Lordaeron forces in Kalimdor…" He works his jaw again.

"'Course, most of us didn't see it that way. He was a great hero. We had a chance, Trent… a chance to wipe out the Horde before it could grow into the abomination that it is today. And she squandered it. Theramore is now a crater."

He adjusts his folded arms and lets out a breath. "Cobalt Company reinvigorated my love for my people. It reminded me of the strength and nobility of the Alliance, despite its flaws, and my hope for its future."

Corvin slices into the increasingly smaller apple with a little more force than might be necessary. "Would that they had — we'd have a lot less problems now, and Theramore might still stand. I hope they won't make the same mistake again. Lost my parents to…" Corvin gestures vaguely with his knife, "…orcs and ogres. Wouldn't have stopped that, but if we can act now we might help today's kids."

"That's what I saw in Cobalt Company, too. People who put themselves in the way, when someone else is suffering," Corvin says, popping another sliver of apple in his mouth. "People who look farther afield, consider the wider impacts of what they do. Not just… what benefits me and mine here and now. Like helping in Ashenvale. Cobalt could've just said the kaldorei are on their own."

Atley grunts. “Then you’re in the right place. I’ve thought of going active duty with the Army, the 7th Legion, but I believe that Cobalt Company will put me where I truly belong, on the front, where and when it’s most needed. We’re often the arrow launched before the tip of the spear.”

Corvin smiles faintly, and answers, "Or the bullet. Though I've trained fair enough at archery as well. I'm still new, but I'll prove my place, be right there with you, before the spear. Cobalt's lucky to have somebody like you. Someone who's been around, seen it all, that folk can look up to, learn from." He gestures at Atley's glowing knife with his more mundane one, "Is that… magical? Looks something special."

Atley lifts a brow and looks down at his sheathed dagger. He pulls it out and holds it up between them. "Not inherently. T'was an 'ordinary' vrykul blade. Bloody sturdy, and sharp. You can drag this behind a horse for leagues 'fore it'll dull. I had an enchantment placed on it later." He flips the dagger, bordering on short sword, around, harmlessly catching it by the blade, and holds the grip out to Corvin.

"Been to Northrend?" he asks.

Corvin takes it by the handle and holds it out casually, feeling for the balance. His eyes are on the blade as he answers, "Only that once, to Wyrmrest Temple. And that, we came in fairly close by portal and left the same way, from inside the temple. I hear it's a wild, brutal land — what little I saw of it was brutal enough."

Atley folds his arms. "You'd think most of it is a wasteland, but it's got verdant forests and jungles tucked away." There's a brief pause before he scoffs with amusement. "F'course, most of it is a proper wasteland, regardless. I picked up that dagger in the Storm Peaks." He eyes Corvin for a moment. "Have you got your eye on joining the forward squads, specifically?"

Corvin slashes the glowing dagger through the air, and then flips it around to hand back to Atley. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead. I'm not usually the sort to try to draw attention. But… maybe one day, if the up tops think I'm worth it. Ever had a worgen on a forward squad before?"

Atley rolls his eyes upward in thought before he shakes his head, retaking the dagger. "No," he says. "No rule against it, merely just no precedent. But I warrant that'll change in time." He flits his gaze back to Corvin. "You strike me as something of a leader yourself. You seemed to spearhead that group in Ashenvale."

"We were following Baalun," Corvin says, ducking his head a little. "He was the one with seniority — a vindicator. I did what I could to help keep the group together, though. And by the time we were in the Barrens there were only a few of us left from that first group you met. Cerethan stuck around, the Highborne fellow with a foot stuck permanent in his mouth — he joined Cobalt, too."

Atley nods slowly. "Aye. The vindicator. He seems like a seasoned one," he comments, before scoffing with dark amusement. "Cerethan. Quite the mouth on that one, innit'." He clears his throat and regards Corvin sharply. "The others fell against the Horde?"

"Oh, Light, no, I didn't mean to imply," Corvin shakes his head hastily. "They're well, far's I know. Most just went their own ways after a time. Saion had to go back up to his 7th Legion unit. Baalun left and a student sort of came in his place — another vindicator called Vaaria. Ansleyn and Sorraine are kind of the wandering sorts, for different reasons. I don't know how many ended up coming to Cobalt."

Atley grunts with a slow nod. "I see. Sorraine — that'd be that bard, then? Wot's it they call her, the 'Crimson' something. How's it you came across that lot in the first place? Seemed like a motley assortment."

"Yeah, I think so? Crimson bard? It was just by chance — passing through the same outpost when a problem came up with the Horde," Corvin shrugs. "I was running messages and deliveries for the Reeve fleet at the time. I decided I could help, so long's it didn't make me miss my rendezvous, and it didn't."

"Fortunate," Atley says. "Seemed like a right solid group for a war zone. I met Captain Reeve for the first time, recently. I trust you've heard word of his promotion?"

"His… oh, right," Corvin looks briefly confused, and then laughs. "The brother. My boss was the Reeve sister — she's civilian, but I'd heard she had a brother in the navy. I guess they've got sailing in the blood, the both of them. Northwatch survivor, aye? Along with Mattingly. I think I put my foot in it a bit with her, at the gala. I hadn't read her article yet."

Atley leans back a bit, raising his head, the ghost of a smirk claiming his rugged features, "Did you?" he asks with an amused growl, intrigued by social missteps in high society. "I read it. A fine piece. Galvanized the nation." The smirk fades, and he grows more sober. "M'grateful she survived, and put word to parchment. Speak to wot' happened there."

Corvin nods, his own cheer fading. "A person can hear numbers, and not feel them. I knew that port, those people. I worked there. They deserve to be remembered as people, not numbers. Her words give that, for all of them. A sense of what they saw, what they felt, before the end. I know it's hard to be the one who survives, too, but without her, all their cries would go unheard." He pauses. "Maybe I ought to have told her something like that. Then again, she might've punched me."

Atley furrows his brow at the thought of a punch at the gala, the corners of his mouth twisting up, some of that vicarious, irreverent amusement returning. "Warrant she would've? Wot' gives you the impression you got her miffed at you, anyway?"

"She's got this stare," Corvin says, giving Dane a mimic of the herding dog stare. "I couldn't figure out what I'd said, to bring that out. I don't even know if she was miffed or just… intense. I get why now, at least. But usually, a girl like that, you push her wrong, she'll either punch you or kiss you. I couldn't see the latter happening."

Atley raises a hand to stroke his chin in thought, nodding along with a scoff of amusement. "I know the look." He takes his hand off his beard and waves it. "She's been through it, hasn't she?" he remarks with gruff sympathy and camaraderie.

He studies Corvin for another moment before nodding up. "You much of a gala man?"

Corvin nods at the first question, and then shifts his shoulders and bites into the remaining apple core before answering the second. "That was my first, so hard to say. Everything was… a fair bit fancier than I'm used to. Food and drink and people. Hard to believe that was somebody's house. Or even, part of somebody's house. Not exactly the sort of place I'd expect mercenaries to gather. What about yourself?"

Atley grunts with sympathetic sentiment. "Aye," he begins. "I'd been assigned as a gala guardsman several times in Lordaeron, but it was after joining the Company that I was invited as a guest." He looks off with a glum, ponderous expression, balancing the question, before turning back to Corvin.

"All depends on who's hosting. I've been to one put on by the Fallon's previously, and I know the Admiral." he says with a tone of approval. "Food's always good, and it's a fine reason to show my wife off to the kingdom."

"Ah, is she a society lady?" Corvin asks, smiling. "If galas are to become a regular thing with Cobalt, I'd thank you to tell me which Stormwind houses skimp on the refreshments."

Atley scoffs with amusement, eyes flashing with humor and affection. "She's a society lady, of a sort. I doubt there are many sorts of rooms that'd make her uncomfortable."

He pushes himself up and marches around Corvin, snatching up a tankard, filling it with the watered-down kegs. "You ought to avoid any galas put on by House Lescovar, though I doubt you'd receive an invitation to begin with. He's no friend of the Company."

He takes a long sip before gesturing to Corvin with the mug. "Anything by House Fallon or House Ference, and you're sure to have a royal welcome."

"Got it, avoid Lescovar," Corvin nods. "Good to know, because a tricky man might try to snag new hires that don't know better. I'm in new waters here, in this place, so I appreciate any advice you have to give. And I've… no attachments myself, though I'd be honored to meet your wife, sir, maybe at a future gala."

“P’raps sooner than that,” Atley begins. “I’ve had other members of the Company at home, but not a worgen. Not yet.” He takes another sip from his tankard.

“You seem to be finding your way just fine by yourself, but I will say you’re bloody cagey about where you’re from. The other members of the Company will notice, in time. Did the officers?”

Corvin crunches the last bite of apple core, and considers Atley steadily and shruga. "The officers of Cobalt Company were satisfied with my accounting of myself. I reckon they're more interested in where I'm headed, and they seemed to feel pretty positive on that."

Atley nods slowly. “Fair, but in my experience, where someone’s been always has a bearing on where they’re headed.” He moves to retake his seat, sitting across from Corvin. “I warrant you have your reasons for secrecy. You’ve given me no reason to suspect ill of you, aside from the secrecy itself. Still.”

"I think that's true, but it can be a good thing, depending on what you've learned from it," Corvin says, wiping off his knife and slipping it away into its sheath. "I aim for people to know me as I am, as you've seen me to be. I make no secret of that."

Atley examines him for a moment, taking another long, slow pull from his tankard. "And you won't yield on this, either," he observes.

"I'm not trying to—" Corvin says, a flicker of something like hurt in his eyes. "I don't mean to start anything off on a lie, and I haven't. Not with the officers. I just…" he looks away, and then back at Dane. "If you aim to judge by blood, my parents were Alteraci. I'm not, because it doesn't exist anymore. Earliest I can remember, we were of Lordaeron, and then nothing at all. Seemed like Stormwind had room for a few strays that could earn their keep."

Atley raises his head as Corvin speaks. He tongues the inside of his cheek. "Alteraci…" he begins, still studying the man, briefly lifting his tankard in his direction. "You've been through it, then, haven't you?" he ponders.

"I'm not trying to start anything off as an interrogation, lad," he begins, some gruff sympathy creeping into his eyes. "You fought with bravery at Ashenvale, and at Wyrmrest Temple. You're fit to be judged for your actions."

Corvin breathes out and smiles crookedly at Atley. "I'm glad to hear you see it that way. And I do aim to keep on that path — might seem a little less evasive when I've more history here to lean on."

Atley grunts and nods slowly. "I see why you'd not want to advertise that. I don't care for dodginess in a man, especially if I'm to fight alongside him, but welcome back to the Alliance." He raises his tankard.

Corvin raises his own in answer. "Thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

Atley finishes off his mug before he stands. "Are you bunking here, or have you got somewhere else to stay?" he asks, setting his tankard down near the other used ones.

"I've got a place," Corvin says, setting down his own empty glass. "A room in a Boarding house over in Stormwind — only a tram ride away."

Atley inclines his head. "Very well." He extends a hand.

Corvin reaches out to take it again, his grip unhesitating.

Atley gives him a nod in farewell before he turns and marches up the stairs.