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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Avrenne takes an opportunity to sit down with Sir Dane Atley the Red to get a read on his opinions and observations about Pandaria, and what he sees of the future. It's like magic scrying, but with a military crystal ball, the way the martial mathematical minded duchess prefers it. 4600~ words. World Plot RP. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
With knowledge of his return to Pandaria on the 1st of January, and her own established visiting of the continent, Duchess Avrenne Esprit of Lordaeron, Lady Fallon of Stormwind, has issued a formal invitation to one Sir Dane Atley the Red of Cobalt Company, to join her at Stoneplow, the small farming community which has little by way of formal meeting places, but does have on offer a humble tea area adjoined to its inn, a quiet place meant for the contemplation of tea and the soul.
The woodwork is calming and orderly, the complexity in lovingly crafted scrollwork and beautifully ornamental details that asked for patience in the creator, as well as an exceedingly delicate brush. Here, there are not the large chairs but the softer cushions surrounding a low table, one of which is filled with sand, ordered with raked lines and stones, interspersed with other warm rocks and metal pots from which rise curls of soft scented incense.
Outside, the rain is a misty drizzle, soundless but felt everywhere, and a chill in the air that blurs the landscape, a potentially ominous darkness for a place that stands still on the edge of a mantid threat not fully crushed. For now, it remains quiet, the wall holding as it is slowly repaired. But, every patrol willingly offered is another relief of a guardian in place to keep ensure there isn't a worse crisis before the breach is completely closed, and whatever caused the first one isn't stopped from causing a second.
Avrenne is already there, seated, earlier than her invitation, a mug of local brew and a teapot of more of the same in front of her — it is of a type of oolong that is made with hops that gives it a sort of whiskey-like flavor. She does not look entirely like a duchess, not as she is dressed, for she does not wear a dress at all; she wears something that has the air of a uniform, though not at all anything so disrespectful to mimic at pretense of it, merely the usefulness of similarity of efficiency, the design of someone who understands why those uniforms are made they way they are. Pants and jacket, both structured that suggest enough of an armor to keep her safe under conditions, and enchanted. Her hair is in a neat chignon, and the air with which she carries herself would not have been out of place on a general, so much so that it seems almost wasted on a noblewoman.
A silhouette of blue and gold steel appears through the gloomy drizzle outside, its shape distorted by mist and rain. As it draws nearer, the figure only grows more alien — something unmistakably outlandish against Pandaria’s muted calm.
Atley arrives, emerging from the darkness in blue-and-gold raiment. Wet armor catches what little light the inn offers, a dull glint along plate and edge. His Cobalt Company tabard and cloak hang heavy with moisture, their colors darkened but no less resolute for it.
He lifts a hand to remove his helmet, tucking it beneath one arm before briefly raking a rain-soaked gauntlet through once-dried hair, taming the worst of the tousle in a single practiced swipe. He approaches the counter out of habit, but before he can speak, the tender simply points him onward — toward the tea area.
Heavy greaves carry him forward, each step sounding against Pandaren wood as he crosses into the adjoining room.
At the sight of Avrenne, he pauses — a brief double take, nothing more — before stepping fully inside. Only then does he bow, low and deliberate, a soldier’s respect offered without embellishment.
“My Lady Duchess,” he growls, the words low rather than harsh as he straightens.
A faint curl touches the corner of his mouth as he sets his jaw.
“Welcome to the country.”
Avrenne rises politely, her fingertips barely touching the table ever so slightly, and the rest all in her core muscles and legs, to give a returning polite and appropriate curtsy for their respective stations, before once again sitting, holding out an open hand in invitation to the other seat.
"Sir Atley," she greets, with that cool composure of hers, as collected here and now as she was at the Charity gala both before and after word of the destruction of Theramore, seemingly unassailable. "Thank you for your time today, it is most appreciated. Please, do sit. Tea?" She pours a cup as she asks, for at least an offering of the hot beverage, without obligation to drink it. "You may, of course, order anything else you may wish. And as I have been given to understand, it would be appropriate to say, 'welcome back.' I trust your return home went well. How is your family?"
Atley steps forward and moves to sit to her right, at a tastefully respectful distance. His movements are slightly stiffer compared to hers, and not just because of the steel shell of his armor, but eventually, he does settle down on a cushion, thick legs folding. Before anything, however, he draws Thunderfury and his shield and carefully leans them against the wall behind him, well within arm’s reach.
He inclines his head at her words and raises his dense arms, unclamping his gauntlets, turning briefly to set them down near his weapons. “I’ll have a bit of tea,” he says. “And thank you. They’re well. T’was a fine thing to see them. I trust your little ones are faring well?”
"Yes, thank you. The boys just turned one year old on the 21st of December," she says with a distinct motherly pride. "Ery will be two in the spring, and quite eager to become it. She takes after her father in many ways." Dane, who is aware of certain abilities the Admiral possesses, might take that a subtle indication to mean in more ways than only personality or physical features, or perhaps not. The duchess is a bit difficult to read.
"I must admit that I am glad to see you return to Pandaria. The longer I have been here, the more I am convinced of Shine's opinion of the benefit of our arrival, particularly of those with an iron will and a determined mind for defending this land against the threats both within and without, such as yourself. You have quite a reputation here, Sir Atley, of what Pandarens have said about Cobalt Company in general, and you in specific. I would be most interested in hearing of your opinion of Pandaria," she says, and takes a sip of her tea.
If Atley, knowing full well of at least some of Admiral Fallon’s more secretive abilities, merely knits his brow in response. A small change in an otherwise eternally rough-hewn face, though he may be imagining a Tidesage toddler.
He takes his tea cup and listens to her before finally taking a slow, measured sip. “You honor me,” he growls with an almost casual inclination of his head. Atley runs his tongue along the bottom of his lip for a time before he cants his head to the side.
“This place is soft. It’s been sheltered by the Mists while the rest of the world has had no such protections. They’ve the Shado-Pan, and while there served as custodians for as long as they’ve been about, but the Pandaren have no armies. No kings.”
He gestures vaguely with his teacup. “A fine luxury to have by being kept away from the rest of a world of warcraft.” He sets his jaw. “They’ve fine martial artists but they lack proper regimented organization. They’ve a martial tradition but they’ve got few if any military traditions. The land itself is bountiful as you’ve seen. Great forests and farmland. It’s only a matter of time until the Horde means to descend upon it and its people like the pack of wolves that they are.”
He takes another sip of tea and looks back at her. “And the Prince has been instrumental, here. The land and the people resonate with him unlike any other.”
Avrenne sips at her own tea, listening attentively in a manner that suggests she is truly listening to his words, not merely waiting for her own turn to speak. He may get a sense that she will remember what he has said with a keen memory, and a politician's propensity for details. She seems to almost mark them down in some internal ledger, to address one by one.
"That is a most interesting distinction that I have not yet heard anyone say before — 'a martial tradition, but few if any military traditions.' I find myself inclined to agree with that astute observation, that fits with what I have seen thus far, particularly in the places I have been, though I will admit it has been predominantly in places with no standing army in the location. Still, the way pandaren speak, suggests that it goes further, that they do not have a history of strong, organized armies, that their time of a unified force was of necessity, and closer to an uprising against an army, but afterwards they grew into — yes, a martial tradition, but not a military one. Well put, Sir Atley," Avrenne praises sincerely.
"As a military man yourself, who has branched out beyond that in recent years, what would your opinion be on how we might encourage that perspective into a cohesive whole with the Alliance to our mutual benefit into what is quite obviously a rapidly approaching unavoidable conflict, where we might help defend these people and potentially make an ally of them in the days to come? Where do you see the pandaren and regiments, in your mind, on a battlefield, for example? As someone who has seen it from now multiple perspectives in those regiments, and apart from them in Cobalt Company."
Atley sits back and regards her evenly for a time. He holds the teacup without taking a sip for a long quiet moment of deliberation.
“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink,” he says at last. “They are properly trained individual fighters. As we’ve said, it’s in their culture. You can’t kick a rock down the annals of their history without it brushing up against a half dozen tales about storied monks. The best we can do is prove how we’re different from the Horde. We haven’t come to be marauders or force their hand. We came to save the Prince, and that objective had escalated into combating the Sha, the Mogu. Figgering’ out wot’ever the bl—“ he cuts off and glances at her. “Wot’s going on.”
He tongues the inside of his cheek. “Say we mobilize the Shado-Pan and the students of these monasteries — all proper trained — but all proper green. They know combat, but they don’t know battle, and they don’t know war. Aside from them, the masses of them are peasants. Farmers and craftsmen, by and large. A serviceable militia in a tight corner, but not a sustainable frontline rank and file fighting force.
However, their kindness and hospitality ought not to be taken for weakness. If and when it comes to it, they’ll side with us, based on how we’ve operated thus far, and when that happens, I’ve got faith they’ll sort themselves out. Make themselves into a form that we can work with. Can’t say wot’ an army of monks would look like, but they’d find their way to it, or some form of it.”
He takes another sip and the teacup is empty. “I’d be of a mind to see them choose a new king. Or an Emperor, if they fancy. Someone to unite the villages and counties. Someone the Alliance could back.”
Avrenne pours him more tea with that same elegance of line and form of someone who trained for it, from a very different world than swords and shields. "It is one of the great strengths of a monarchy, or any unified force, to have a leader for a decisive choice, and focused approach to represent the whole of the kingdom. Even the gnomes, who utilize a form of meritocracy that can cause unrest with each frequent regime change, recognize the significance of a single leader when it comes to the benefits of negotiating alliances and crucial decisions. It is an additional challenge thus far in Pandaria that we are unable to meet yet with any elite officials that have been presented. I have met with many individuals, and important members of the community, but no one I would yet say could pull the entirety of Pandaria together, or make an agreement that would be binding for the whole.
"If I may ask, what you said before about Prince Anduin and his affinity for the people here, would you be willing and able to elaborate on that? Naturally, I would never ask you to speak beyond what you feel you may, for any reason, and you need not fear that I will press you further if you hold your peace, nor will I see a man punished unduly for speaking honestly. You can also be sure, as a patriot yourself, that I have nothing but respect for the royal family of Stormwind, and am now bound to them by the vows of my husband's loyalty and title myself, as well as the long friendship my House has had personally with the House of Wrynn. I admit to some concern for Prince Anduin, but also if there were to be something I might aid him with somehow, I am honor bound to do my utmost to provide it."
Atley allows the refill and gives her a brief nod of thanks before he leans back — deliberately not too far back, considering they’re in a Pandaren tea parlor and sitting on the ground.
“The Prince has always had a good heart to him. Managing to stay as sharp as he has, for wot’ he’s been through. Deprived of a father, betrayed and manipulated by someone who was supposed to guard him. When we were deployed to rescue him, I’d figgered’ if he hadn’t been taken or slain by hostile forces, he’d thrown himself in with a local Pandaria cause.”
He takes a sip and ships his head. “Then once we made contact, it crossed my mind that it may’ve been mere teenage rebellion and that bloody stubborn Wrynn defiance that we’ve all come to rely upon,” he states with a gruff wryness. “A desire to pull on and ahead of all reason, for the sake of pulling. Light knows I had that in me at his age.” He shakes his head once and sets the tea cup down — it looks like it might shatter in his hand at the slightest physical miscalculation.
“He’s not running or bucking against the reins. He’s being drawn towards something. This ‘Vale of Eternal Blossoms.’ The people and the land itself are responding to him. He identified the true nature of the Sha long before the rest of us. He trained at the Temple of the Red Crane, under Chi-ji and his monks. He was crucial in driving back the Sha, there.”
Atley inclines his head. “He’s got some role to play here, my lady. We must keep him safe, but we can’t be the ones to hinder his instinct. I’ve had full right since I stepped foot here to throw a sack over his head and drag him back to Stormwind. I warrant that’d be the king’s preference by now, if I was jockeying for further approval, but the situation’s not so simple.”
He glances through the entry way. “I can fight a physical war. I’ve been in war for nearly as long as I can remember, and there’ll be one here, but there’s a spiritual war upon us, and I can think of few better to have about than the Prince. I do not say it because of his name or lineage. I only know wot’ I’ve seen of him, and I’d say the same thing if he were a butcher’s boy. He just happens to be one of the most bloody important teenagers in the Alliance — and the world,” he remarks with more gruff wryness, eyeing her.
Avrenne listens with those dark, inscrutable politician's eyes, her expression deliberately controlled — there is a moment where there's flicker around her eyes, the start of something, when he mentions the Vale of Eternal Blossoms seeming to summon the prince that is then frozen as she makes nothing at all until it smooths back out — but he can tell she is calculating things behind the veil of composure, wheels turning and notes being made.
"I would naturally never dare to overstep the boundary to speak for His Majesty, nor make any claim of his words or thoughts," Avrenne says. A well manicured finger traces the edge of her cup, and a thread of nostalgia winds its way through her voice, a soft grey of old grief, as she looks into the murky tea water. "I have, however, known King Varian Wrynn for quite a long time. We first met many years ago in Lordaeron, when he was still new to his crown, and I was but a young girl, third of my House. A lifetime ago." She tucks the nostalgic thread back into place, and raises her gaze back to Dane's.
"You might be surprised at his opinion for what he may want for his son, of what balance King Varian would see struck between protecting a most precious beloved child, and also the understanding that he has of knowing that the child will become a king who must pave the way for a new world. His words were not empty that Remembrance Day, of what he wants for Prince Anduin, and the faith he wishes to be placed in seeing his son's vision for a healed future of a different path than his own. It is not in my nature to allow a child to remain in danger, no matter his rank, any more than it seems yours, but I also understand, as you do, that a prince must do as his House demands of him.
"This Vale of Eternal Blossoms — if it is indeed something that is part of driving back the sha, that might be part of healing this land — and you can provide reasonable support of that with the pandaren's understanding of the situation, then when I return, I will speak with the king myself, and I will be certain to represent the decisions that were made as such. King Varian is not an unreasonable man, when he is given the full picture to contemplate," she says.
Atley leans back and regards her with a bushy brow faintly lifted. His grim features might be set firmer in stone, especially as he feels those inscrutable politician's eyes lay upon him. His own expression remains unchanged by the reveal of her past with the King, but he does grunt in acknowledgement, or perhaps mildly allowed surprise.
The tiny, delicate teacup is raised in his hand upon her pledge. "That'd be a fine thing," he says at long last. "I've been prepared to explain the situation to him myself since I first noticed all this about the Prince. And stand by the choices we've made here," he says, briefly tipping his head to the right.
After tonguing the inside of his cheek for a moment, he nods off to his right again. "Wot's happened here, with the Mists receding, won't just be us influencing this place. It'll be a two-way path. Pandaria'll have an effect on the rest of the world. Whether for good or ill, that's still up to decide. Here. Now. With us."
"Naturally. And, of course, you must know to what degree Admiral Fallon agrees with your assessment of the situation at present for what is appropriate given the Prince's rank and age in relation to his agency, and I trust his judgement as well. He is a rational man, and also willing to allow for new information when he sees it presented before him," Avrenne adds. "As for Pandaria's effect on the Alliance, that is one that we must all be ready to view with an openness. It is a challenge that presents itself from time to time, as it did many years ago with Kalimdor and the kaldorei. It is my belief that these are opportunities to learn new perspectives, and present our own in turn to be listened to by even great, old cultures. Progress happens when we see what is, not what we want it to be. Tradition and innovation can co-exist.
"What would you say, in your opinion, are the greatest effects that you see Pandaria having on the world at large? At this time. I understand, of course, this is speculation, but I would still hear your opinion, if you will give it," Avrenne says."
Atley examines her and allows a long moment before leaning back, raising a hand to stroke his wiry beard in thought. “Cataclysm didn’t hit them here,” he says. “Not very bloody hard, if at all. I’ve been deep into the wilderness and I’ve seen wot’ bounty Pandaria has available. In regard to the ore, in particular. It would be a great boon to whoever got their hands on it, most of our own lands ravaged by the Cataclysm.”
He takes a sip and shakes his head. “We don’t know enough about it the Sha, but we know they’re smart. If the things had a mind to spread, to move to other lands and other peoples now that they’re ’waking up,’ they’ve never been presented with a better opportunity than wot’ they’ve got now. And all that’s leaving out wotever’ power waits at this ‘Vale of Eternal Blossoms.’ Power that’s been here for so long, and so hidden, that it’s even become legend among the natives themselves.”
He looks off for a moment before adding. “Not to mention the unarmed fighting style of theirs. That’ll spread.”
"Mm." Avrenne takes in the opinions without sharing her own, sipping her tea as he speaks. If she has any thoughts on the latter, she doesn't seem inclined to give them unasked. "Astute observations, as always, Sir Atley. I expect you will have more, as you spend time in Pandaria, which I have no doubt that you will do, as it is clear you see your duty here, and I am grateful for it. The continent benefits from men such as yourself dedicating his service to the pursuit of the goals of the Alliance here, in ensuring the well being of the world's interests, including a vision in which Pandaria sees a path towards an allyship with the Alliance. If I may ask a final question or two?"
Atley lowers his gaze as a brief, gruff but wry expression of amusement passes over his rugged features. He inclines head in thanks and simultaneously raises his emptied teacup. “Please, my lady,” he says.
"I would be interested to know what your opinion is on what is most needed in the conflict to come, from a military man's perspective, of what you have noted in the oncoming potential war amongst the various factions? My expertise is in the assembly of military contracts, and at present, I have been looking into a number of potential places I see that may be of significance, including that we will have places where we may need to engage in siege tactics to oust the Horde or mogu from strategic locations of old temples, such as what was done in Paw'don, and that we may have with others, of long supply chains as we provide areas of defense of villages without them, such as with the jin'yu, Halfhill, and Stoneplow.
"Where has your eye noted anything that I should perhaps take a closer look, or that you believe I might not have seen yet, or could warrant a second glance with another perspective?" Avrenne asks. "I have, of course, spoken to others, and I have observed on my own, but these are questions that often are beneficial when heard from multiple sources."
Atley sets down his tea and frowns at her before his gaze shifts, peering through a window into the gloomy, humid morning beyond. “The Valley’s a flood bowl,” he begins, glancing back at her as he cranes his head to the side. “On first look, it’s open country. A great piece of parchment with nothing written on it, just waiting for a proper battle to field. Heavy cavalry, heavy infantry — but that’s not the whole of it. This place has been tamed over its many centuries. The lot of it that’s not spent on the rice paddies about trickles into the great Krasarang below.”
He juts his head in a nod to the left. “If the Horde wanted to deny us serious passage or a mustering, they’d strike at the dams there. It wouldn’t take much time or manpower to turn this place is into a ruddy bog.” With a small shake of his head, he continues, “Wouldn’t have to starve the locals either to deny or be denied heavy infantry or cavalry. These farmers are used to water with their crops.”
"Hydraulic warfare with significant potential for area denial, yes, I see what you mean," Avrenne says, her eyes going distant as she looks off into the same direction, seeing perhaps more than only what is in front of her, as if examining map overlays in her mind's eye. "Greater fortification and strengthening of the defensive capabilities of those dams, along with an encouragement to have shamans with an ability to persuade water elementals could be an instrumental lynchpin against one single clever Horde commander. Additionally, anything that might be done in preparation for that cavalry and infantry through an unexpected heavier flooding could be the difference between a force met on a proper location, or at extreme disadvantage. Some mounts will simply have a natural advantage, and if we have sufficient numbers, it could assist greatly in ensuring we do not find ourselves caught in the mud at the most inopportune time."
Her head turns with an aristocratic elegance back to Dane. "Thank you, Sir Atley. Well observed, and I will take it under due consideration. I very much appreciate your words and your time today. You have given me much to think about."
Atley examines her for a time before he inclines his head. "Call upon me anytime, my lady," he says, before he briefly glances past her, and then leans forward, over the little tea table, to peer back at the main chamber of the inn they find themselves in. He gestures vaguely that way and turns back to her.
"How long do you mean to stay in country?" he asks.
"Until the 11th, barring any unforeseen circumstances in either direction," she answers promptly. "Admiral Fallon has secured a rental house for my use in Paw'don village that I will be staying at for the duration." She deliberately telegraphs her intent to rise before she does so, a lady's courtesy of warning, as her standing will require him to do so by the rules of polite society.
Atley seems to have been waiting for such, and readily stands when she does, armor clanking. He grunts, and nods. "I'm certain he's pleased to have you about," he says, inclining his head again as he turns to collect Thunderfury and his shield from the wall. "Have you got a proper escort for your return to the coast?"
Avrenne allows a brief, small smile of acknowledgement that Siamus might be pleased to have her around, as a cordial wife for her husband of a suitable arranged match.
"I do, thank you." Avrenne dips her head into an automatic gracious nod in response. "I wish you a good new year, Sir Atley. Until we meet again." With that, she's already beginning to sweep from the room, a dismissal of a duchess who does not wait to be excused from a room.