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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Almeiria, Alysson, Arric, Atley, Darli, Estel, Florande, Lireen, Raschal, Shun, and Torcaill meet with Wrathion for a brief assessment of the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance, and a demand for a long-form demonstration of martial prowess. And snacks. ~2800 words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: Wrathion in Pandaria
The Tavern in the Mists is unchanged since the last meeting with the Black Prince, where heat of the day has not quite yet burned away the morning mists from the grounds. The tavern’s common room is empty today, save for Wrathion and a handful of his Blacktalons, and the unflappable pandaren innkeeper Tong.
Wrathion sits on a wooden chair like a king on his throne, still in the ornate robes and turban that mimic the Pandarian style, his red eyes like burning coals watching his champions moving into the room.
Shun slips into the tavern and takes a moment to assess who's all inside so far. He gives a curt nod to Wrathion, then takes his place off to the side where he folds his arms and begins to wait.
Alysson arrives early, stepping casually into the room like he belongs there, and, after a cheerful wave at the Black Prince, immediately begins touching things he shouldn’t. A fish statue, in this case, holding it up to better examine it in the light.
Almeiria enters soon after, halting in surprise as she catches sight of Alysson. It’s almost as if it’s been months since she last saw him. She is not the only one surprised, as Alysson promptly fumbles the statue upon seeing her. It is sheer luck that the statue ends up in Almeiria’s hands, and not on the floor.
“Do not touch things if you are going to drop them,” she hisses at Alysson, returning the statue to its rightful place before turning to smile sweetly at Wrathion and the innkeeper.
A panther slinks towards the doorway, and resolves into the elvish form of Florande before she crosses the threshold. Her leather is tidier than usual, and it looks like she's combed her hair. She glances at Shun, Alysson, Almeiria, and then Wrathion. She takes a few steps to the side to lean against the wall, sort of casually. Or at least, she's aiming for casual, but it mostly comes across as nervous.
"Hey," Estel says cheerfully as she enters, grinning at her friends. (Wrathion is included in her list of friends.)
One of the Blacktalons, a lanky masked night elf man, gives a very solemn nod to Florande. Then a wink, which ruins the solemnity.
Arric Falrevere arrives in an incredibly dashing and fashionable ensemble, an upper-class men's suit in green and gray, largely made in the Stormwind style but with some Pandaren-style details that are extremely de rigueur this summer. His hair is neatly combed, his rust-colored beard freshly trimmed. His pale blue eyes have gone a bit fishlike in their suppressed excitement.
Atley steps into the tavern, fresh from the front, meeting Wrathion for the first time. He slowly removes his winged helmet and tucks it under an arm. There’s a thin level of grime on his shining blue and gold armor, and there’s still a shade of red in his face as sweat trickles down his brow.
He tongues the inside of his cheek, gaze briefly sweeping across allies before it settles on Wrathion’s Blacktalons. He openly assesses their statures, their equipment, their placements in the room. Atley moves to take up a place in the corner, the floorboards squeaking underneath him, back to the wall.
Another armored newcomer enters not long after Atley, but they could not resemble one another less. Lireen Cloudskimmer's helm is already tucked under her arm, leaving her silver hair to flow freely, almost touching her shoulders. A narrow braid hangs down along one side of her face.
The expression on her handsome, lightly-lined face as she beholds Wrathion is one of maternal relief, as though she were finally catching up to a wayward child.
"Well, look at you noew, dear…" she says quietly, half to herself.
The Undermountain siblings enter in early — Darli slinking along in a dangerous swath of raven feathers and leather with her face masked up, and Torcaill striding in chipper and bright in his silver paladin plate armor and plucky braided beard; both wear the Cobalt Company tabard.
Torcaill gives the others a cheery wave, as he scouts out a nice middle ranged area by a table with multiple chairs around it, and beckons Darli over.
Darli gives Almeiria a nod, as she goes to stand by her brother. There's that practical shadow woman here, good.
Estel waves to everyone as they enter.
“I’ve heard reports of all of you from my people,” Wrathion says sternly, and then after a moment he smiles. “Marvelous. Those of you I have met, that did not take long at all – a mere few months. Word of your many achievements has been the talk of the continent! And for those of you who have only just joined our little operation, it is because I have heard wonderful things. I have decided that I will take all of you under my wing.” He turns to the innkeeper. “Tong! Something to eat, please.”
The pandaren innkeeper pops on his chef hat and heads over to the bar, humming as he starts to prepare a tray of food.
Florande watches a little warily.
“As I suspect you are aware, we've progressed to a new part of the Pandaren campaign,” Wrathion says, steepling his fingers. “The Alliance has landed on the shores with the full might of its navy. Your King aims to check Horde aggression in this new land.”
“Horde aggression…” Wrathion stands, pacing to the center of the room, and gesturing. Garrosh Hellscream appears behind him. “Garrosh Hellscream! Warchief of the Horde. He did not always command such power. On Draenor, he was a miserable wretch. The actions of his father hung heavy on his heart.”
Wrathion narrows his eyes. “I know what it is like to bear the weight of one’s father's deeds. In this case, what it means is a warrior like Garrosh comes to power with something to prove. I expect that’s why Garrosh Hellscream is propelling the Horde headfirst into battle.”
Tong continues humming in the background, chopping fish and setting little hors d’oeuvres on a long board.
Torcaill frowns heavily, nodding in agreement as he leans forward in his seat. "Aye… he's watching the wrong thread in the tapestry."
Darli crosses her arms, shifting the weight from one foot to the other.
"All he has proven is that orcs continue to be thoughtless meatheads," Almeiria says, shrugging in feigned exasperation. "It's not a good look, in case I was unclear."
Behind her, Alysson practices steepling his fingers in mimicry of Wrathion.
Darli snorts.
Estel watches Tong cook hopefully.
Wrathion smiles faintly at these assessments, and repeats, "Wrong thread. Not a good look. Well…
Wrathion gestures, and the orc vanishes. The form of Varian Wrynn takes his place, his expression grim and noble and his armor gleaming blue and silver. “King Varian Wrynn is a little more of a mystery to me. I'd like to talk to you about this leader of yours.”
Wrathion considers King Varian. “The High King. Varian Wrynn - Leader of the Alliance. Did you know, he was once a gladiator? Oh yes, I've been doing my research.”
The image of King Varian changes. He assumes an unarmed combat stance and is now wearing a leather gladiator outfit instead of his usual heavy armor.
Tong heads over the side table, and meticulously lays out a spread of fish, vegetables and fruit. He steps aside and makes a welcome gesture to the assembled. He winks at Estel.
Florande starts to move over towards the food table, but then her eyes are drawn to gladiator-Varian.
Alysson, too, is watching gladiator Varian with interest. "So what you're sayin' is, if I took up gladi —"
"No," Almeiria interrupts before he can finish. She moves to ensure the path to the food is clear for those interested.
Wrathion grins at Alysson. “All of this is entirely true, I assure you. Suffering from amnesia, he fought for his life in Horde arenas.” Wrathion walks in a circle around Varian, who makes some punches into the air. “There, he earned the name "Lo'Gosh," or "Ghost Wolf." He IS a fighter. But… is he a leader?”
The image of Varian changes back into his usual King of Stormwind self.
Torcail runs a meditative hand over his beard at the question. "If ye are what ye do, whether that's a gladiator fightin' or leadin', then I think it's fair ta say King Varian's a leader. The lad's doing his best, aye?"
Darli shrugs. Leaders smeaders. Human kings. Whatever.
Shun listens carefully. His brow raises a moment as he also watches what Wrathion has to show them.
“Doing his best, maybe, but think about it!” Wrathion says, and he gestures in a circle, bringing up an illusory wreath of flame around King Varian. The vision of a meteor strikes nearby. “His enemies took advantage of my father's Cataclysm. Horde soldiers thundered across the realm in the wake of the devastation. Varian Wrynn didn't use the disaster to gain a military advantage.” Wrathion sounds baffled.
Two Stormwind banners appear at King Varian's sides, and Wrathion walks from King Varian's right to his left. “Is this because he is weak…? Or because he is principled?”
"Any advantage we might have sought would only have played into the hands of the Twilight's Hammer," Almeiria says, sounding surprised that she finds herself defending the king of all people.
"Would it? The Horde didn't hold back, and the Twilight's Hammer were still defeated," Wrathion points out.
Florande stares at Wrathion.
"That's because of Cobalt Company!" Arric blurts.
Florande startles, and then points at Arric. "Yes, yes! We helped."
King Varian again assumes a battle stance, this time wielding a Stormwind flag. Wrathion considers him with unreadable red eyes. “Here's the bigger question: Can principles… or particularly capable mercenaries… win a war? Make no mistake. Pandaria will challenge your King. Let us see what he is truly made of. Let us see if your Alliance has what it takes to rule Azeroth.”
Torcaill leans back now to think about what Wrathion's said and presented. This is Philosophy questions about morality. Hmm.
Darli gives a dry laugh. "All right, fine, let's do this, then. You want to see us dance to prove we can? We'll dance. Who are we killing now?"
Lireen tilts her head, and makes a soft tutting sound at the melodramatic boy/dragon.
"You've got the idea, Darli," Wrathion says, turning to the team. “I am curious to see how King Wrynn rises to the occasion. I am even more curious to see what YOU are capable of. Let's find out…”
“As we discussed before, my goal is an expedient end to this costly war,” Wrathion says, walking over toward Raschal. “I want you to prove to me that the Alliance deserves to win. Show me your prowess on the battlefield.”
Wrathion steps over to Raschal. Without warning Wrathion slices his thumb and presses it against Raschal’s forehead. His blood flames on contact, but then rapidly sinks into Raschal’s skin without leaving a mark. “There! My eye is upon you. I am watching. Let me mark the rest as well.”
"Whoa," says Raschal. He touches his forehead, seeming unbothered by the weird ritual.
Alysson's hand rockets upward. "Do me next!" he says eagerly.
Wrathion walks over without hesitation, reaching to mark Alysson's forehead with his bloody thumb. He then turns to consider the others.
Florande watches the flaming blood uneasily.
"How permanent is this arrangement?" Almeiria asks, eyeing the blood.
Darli nods to Almeiria. "Yeah, what she said," she adds.
Torcaill smiles. "I'm sure it's jus' as long as it's needed!"
"I do not have the desire to watch all of you indefinitely," Wrathion says dryly. "The magic will fade, but not before I have time to observe your heroics."
Arric steps forward, gamely presenting his forehead.
Meanwhile, Lireen says with a twinkle in her eye, "I think I'll pass on the blood magic, laddie. I dinna ken how I feel about someone I saw in his egg bein' able ta spy on me while I answer a call o' nature or wot have ye."
Torcaill gestures with a you see! And nods. "Aye, sounds fair ta me." He stands up to step forward and present his dark gray forehead.
Alysson has taken to trying to fire lasers out of his invisible forehead eye. Fortunately, it's not working.
Wrathion nods to Arric and Torcaill, and marks them one after the other. He narrows his eyes at Lireen warily before he turns to the others.
Darli watches warily, but in the end, rolls the fuck it dice. "Fine. But if you keep it on me indefinitely, I'll make sure you see something you regret," she warns as she steps forward. "Let's do this."
Almeiria is trying — and failing — to hide her curiosity as she watches Alysson's forehead, perhaps attempting to detect the magic. Eventually, she relents. "Very well. The price of power, as they say. But do keep your word, Wrathion, dear. If you don't, I'll know."
"Whether ye approve o' me or not, laddie" Lireen says with a stubborn smile, "I'm gonna help ye out." Her tone brooks no disagreement. "I'm nae here ta prove meself to ye, I'm here because I helped ye inta this world and I want tae see ye succeed. Just try an' stop me." Her grin broadens.
Shun narrows his eyes, not moving from his position.
Estel steps forward for her mark. "Just 'cause we're friends," she says to Wrathion. "You can check up on… let's say Sundays… to see us kill Empress Shek'zeer. We're getting there, anyway."
"You have my blades. But you will not mark me," Shun finally says.
Lireen gives Shun an I get you nod.
Florande looks over from Raschal to Wrathion wordlessly, and then bites her lip. She steps forward to make her forehead available.
Wrathion goes around marking foreheads, getting Darli, Almeiria, Estel, and Florande. He nods to Estel. "I will watch for you on Sundays, then. Killing an Empress would be impressive, indeed."
Raschal does a little fist-pump as Florande gets marked. Spyware buddies!
"Empressive!" Arric blurts nervously.
Shun deadpans.
Alysson bursts into laughter.
Estel snort-laughs at the pun.
Florande giggles nervously.
Arric looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Wrathion could probably arrange that.
Wrathion stares at him, but his lip quirks.
"Hey Flo," Raschal stage-whispers. "Let's give the Prince something really interesting to spy on later." He lets enough of a pause go by before adding, "You know, a dance."
Florande grins at Raschal. Did she catch the double-entendre? Unclear. "Yes, we'll put on a good show," Florande says with a nervous giggle.
Atley works his jaw and nods slowly as he watches Wrathion go around the room, having been listening quietly.
As Wrathion approaches, he stares down at the Dragon Prince. “You can mark me,” Atley says. “And see that the Alliance is fated to win this conflict. But if there’s some kind of treason in your mind, if you’ve a spying intent, I’ll know of it. And you nor any of your thugs could withstand Cobalt Company and The Alliance if you make an enemy out of us, Your Majesty.”
"I think you'll find you are one of my thugs, knight," Wrathion says with a smile, reaching forward to mark his forehead. "And you'll find I take my responsibility to safeguard Azeroth very seriously."
"Perhaps in time you will see our worth without needing to breach our privacy," Shun grunts.
Lireen affectionately rolls her eyes at Wrathion's comment.
“No,” Atley says. “I’ll be fighting the Horde with or without your support, Majesty.”
Wrathion raises one eyebrow and steps back, after marking the last person.
“The Pandaren, like the Alliance, value the concept of Valor,” Wrathion says. Nearby, Tong nods agreeably. “I ask you to prove yourself valorous. You are not fighting some abstract force like the sha: You are facing your enemy head-on, eye-to-eye. You are facing the Horde. Will you triumph?” Wrathion smiles. “Go now. Prove I am backing the right side.”
"So the food wasn't for us, huh?" Estel sighs wistfully.
"Oh no, it is!" Tong says cheerfully, gesturing to the spread. "Please, everyone, help yourself! Pandaren also value the concept of hospitality."
Darli looks the food over, and then Tong. "Proof that we're backing the right side," she says wryly.
Torcaill chuffs amicably, as he wanders over to the spread. "Aye, surely it does."
For once Arric and Lireen agree, both heading over to sample the delicious looking banquet on display. Arric carefully examines the offerings and selects small portions of the ones that appeal; Lireen just piles a plate with everything and then calmly and methodically annihilates it.
"Glad I asked," Estel says, and goes to get something to eat.