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About Vathelan

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  • Birthday 07/31/1989

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  1. “Thank you for the work you’ve done, Vathelan” It had been a week since the Accords were signed, and yet his Lord’s words still echoed through his mind here within the selected section of the Guildhall’s underbelly where he and his half-elf bodyguard took measurements for the housing of the Scryer Communications Relay Crystal. A week passed and yet he could feel the phantom touch of Cerryan linger upon his shoulder. “We will be better for it, and I’m sure it’s something Draco would’ve been proud of.” This, as likely expected, had served well to motivate the young Magister even further-- though perhaps not for the reasons his lord would have anticipated. It was in these depths of Sanctuary’s halls that Frostwhisper worked to hide his shame of the secrets he still kept. Jotting another note within his Glass Scroll, he worked to silence the nagging doubts within his mind as he turned his attention back to his companion. “Kirital, if you would please pace the steps again for confirmation?” “Sure, yeah.” The burly man hosted a long create above his head as he carefully paced out the distance again, a quizzical look of focus pinched his features. “It’s what you had before. So these… uh…” He continued as he began to low the crate and its heavy contents, reaching about chest hight before he found the words for his question. “...These things. Do we need to build this thing now, or where you’re done with…” A nod towards the pane of glass Vath was working on, “That?” For a moment the Magister was silent as he looked over the measurements and calculations. When satisfied he nodded before answering the questions set before him. “These measurements are required in order to build the chassis for the central communications hub for Sanctuary's improvements. Thanks to some preliminary paperwork, the actual synthesis of the crystal should have already been started. Given the necessity of it all… I’m hoping it should be done within a month or so.” His eyes traveled back from his work and to his assistant who was still carrying the crate assigned to him, the last of the ones set in a particular order to help ensure accurate markings. “You can set that down where you are standing, please. We need to ensure that the measurements are accurate and fit to the schematic’s specifications to ensure its stability… considering some of the materials required in the process are… um… Volatile if not handled appropriately.” Kirital moved with even more caution at the news, providing his form ample opportunity to show off as they flexed and tensed in a smooth motion as the crate sets to the ground with a soft ‘paff’. “Volatile. Right.” His head swiveled to look at the others he set in place, with even more near the Magister. “All of this for housing a crystal?” “We’re only in pre-production. In time we’ll be organizing a team of engineers to do the more complex sections as well as Golems to do the heavy lifting. I warned the Commander that her requirements would prove quite costly and time-consuming.” A small sigh left the lips of Vathelan as he tried to let the comments go, his smile not given the chance to waver. “Think of this Crystal as both the Heart and brain of the network we are establishing. Would a visual demonstration aid in your understanding of what we’re about to build?” Kirital took a seat on one of the larger crates, his hands resting together on the edge between his thighs. One situated he gave several eager nods, “I also have some questions later too.” Frostwhisper’s smile grew a measure more at the enthusiasm before fading as he concentrated on the mathematical equations he had been reading on the Glass Scroll as he converted them into the sub-thermal spell required for such an accurate frost-model. “The entire housing chassis will be built into the floor, but for the sake of the model…” As he applied his mana, water would be conjured and frozen simultaneously. Its mass grew with each breath as he poured more into the spell. First grew the outer wall in a circular fashion, when completed the spell would work inwards. Various bumps grew within the bowl-shaped structure before bridges of ice culminated into a central hub. For the majority of the time, which was of growing minutes, not seconds thanks to the size and intricacy, all the while the room chilled further and further from the display… there was silence between them. One focused on the spellcraft, the other staring in amazement before he finally breathed an “...Awesome…” When at last the structure was complete with what looked to be some crystal in the center, Vath ignited some of the mana within to allow it to glow forming a dazzling and soothing illumination as its radiance echoed through the entire structure. It was only now that the Magister was able to speak again. “So, the Brain Metaphor is more literal in terms of design. All communications will not only be relayed through here-- it will also support the processing of such. To do this, we have developed an elixir of sorts to both amplify and stabilize these transactions.” With another gesture, the Magister conjured water that flowed within the inside the hollow section of the structure. Filling it like water in a bowl. “As this is a newer creation, we have had time to learn from the previous incarnation of this Magi-technology to allow Sanctuary the bleeding edge of what we have to offer. The fluid is also designed to facilitate growth of the Crystal overtime to allow it organically grow with the most efficient reactions developed within to better suit Sanctuary’s needs as it too continues to swell in numbers and responsibilities they wish to tackle. It is my hope, should Sanctuary prove to be the invaluable ally I have sold them as, that we can continue our partnership after the war-- and that this will help alleviate costs in the long run. For both parties.” “So can it...uh… talk to people?” A pause before another rapid sentence. “I had a nice chat with a blood golem once.” “At current, I am not planning on giving it the intelligence processes required for it to carry on a conversation-- I fear that may make certain key members of Sanctuary nervous, and I feel that overstepping my bounds so early in this relationship would be… ill-advised.” With a glance over to the ice-forged model, his mind began to consider the possibilities. “But… theoretically… with those processes added, it would be able to talk through us through the Emblems or other technologies we shall be using. Quite an interesting venture indeed. Hm.” “I was being generous describing it as a ‘conversation’, really. More like…” Kirital stiffened his limbs in mimicry of the golem in question. “‘Affirmative, Kirital’” He took a step and relaxed his posture. “Must be exhausting, doing this patrol all the time.” A step back to where he was previous, and the stiff mimicry continued. “‘Affirmative, Kirital’” With a long full-body stretch, the half-elf relaxed into his normal carefree persona. “It was a tired sounding affirmative, I think.” All the while Vathelan watched his companion enact his story, he struggled to bite back his amusement. “...Ah yes…” His composure returned. “The Golem technology tends to have enough semblance of intelligence as to ensure effectiveness in terms of autonomy. Speech aids them in their use as security, even. This, however-- I fear may be taken poorly if it spoke to people as you or I would, even if the research into such fields would be… quite fascinating. The potential in the ramifications for our people would be--” The Magister cut himself off as he shook his head. “...But I digress. I need to file these measurements still, shall we take this conversation back to my office?” Kirital was quick to grab both his pack and Vathelan’s. “Yeah that’s fine. Whenever you’re ready!” He was quite eager it seemed, though Vath tried not to put too much thought into it. With a nod, the Magister snapped his fingers. This action set forth a chain reaction behind him as he followed his bodyguard up the stairs, the miniature arcane explosion within the ice structure was just strong enough to send it crashing down in a portal that would send the frozen ice and its watery contents to safely plummet down below into the sea that rest beneath the floating city. They had plenty more work to do, and the Legion waited for no one.
  2. Such embolden courage would be set to a test as his lord was slow to answer, Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper would be forced to undergo an ordeal of tentative silence before there was at long last an answer. When it did finally give way to his lord’s voice, there was a sense of suspicion that tainted it. “Who is there?” “My Lord, it is I--” This was not the welcome he had expected, but it mattered not. He would subject himself to this final trail. It’s results determined the fate of this alliance. If he could not convince his lord, he would have to forgo the use of Sanctuary. He would have to improvise. He prayed it didn’t come to that. “--your ever faithful servant, Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper.” “Vathelan! Please, do come in, I’ve been hoping to speak with you!” That was closer to what he was hoping for, why the previous contention? Strange. But not something he could dwell upon. He had to keep focus. Rolling his sleeve back into place, he frowned at the white hairs that inevitably did linger from his visit to his office. A small silent sigh at the flaw in his presentation before he opened the door, barely remembering to put his glove back on as well as he presented his practiced pleasant demeanor worn over his face that infected his very tone-- no matter how much he truly meant the words. “I am pleased to see that you have returned, My Lord.” He, in turn, was greeted with the warmest smile that his lord’s marred face could muster. Marring that had come from his assistant, Miss Cat D’Aragon. “I am pleased to be back, there’s far too much to be done for me to be idle any longer. And I’d like to apologize to you, Vathlean. I know that I have not been terribly present for much of the time you have been here as liaison to the Scryers, and I believe that you’ve suffered for that. I am sorry; I hope to amend that going forward, especially once these Accords are ratified and we can start moving on some of the plans they detail.” “I have suffered worse in my lifetime, My Lord.” Vathelan shot his response as quickly as he could, bowing his head both in terms of respect and as to hide his true emotions from view as his mask of pleasantry threatened to crack. He may have told the truth, but that didn’t diminish the treatment and the insults he had been forced to endure in his lord’s absence. The fact that the Commander had allowed an Orcess to go unpunished for all her threats to his life and well being. The threats of removal from service. The lives such stonewalling threw away in the meantime. All of it. But, in the end… “I do appreciate the concern, but I don’t matter. What matters is the cost if we should fail our world.” Lord Cerryan responded with a stoic nod, making it impossible to tell if he bought the implications of Vathelan’s words. Or if he had seen beyond the persona the Magister was putting forward. “I don’t intend to see that happen, under any circumstances. That that end, I’d like to discuss finalizing the Accords with you so that by my authority as Marshal of Sanctuary I can sign the documents and make them official.” “Good. I am glad to see a voice of reason has returned to Sanctuary.” His pleasant tone remained as he lifted his gaze from his bow towards his lord once more. But at the pursing of Cerryan’s lips, he could tell it wasn’t enough to hide the bile from his mistreatment. So instead he would continue on to business proper as he moved to take out a folder with a sizable amount of paper within it from his satchel. He spoke as he set the numerous pages upon his lord’s desk. “I have revised a new draft of the document, it allows you an official direct line between us-- Warboss Bloodborne where applicable as well. I can go over all the changes with you, if that is your desire, my lord?” There was a slight widening of his lord’s eyes at the Accords, paperwork was never something of his strong suit. That was one of the reasons he was brought in, after all. After a moment Cerryan nodded, and Vathelan awarded him a small reassuring smile as a reward. “Yes, it seems we should go over anything you might have changed. I trust that outside of expanding the points of contact you will be working with, you haven’t modified any of the points that you and the Commander specifically agreed to. I am still working under her authority and intend on keeping the intent of her conditions, in the interests of Sanctuary’s sovereignty.” “The alterations are to allow efficiently and security of the war assets we will be granting you in light of recent events in order to ensure I was able to secure the Other, more final, signature required to make this document pass and in an attempt to make up for some of the wasted time it took to get this far-- but I assure you, my lord, my role has not changed. Nor am I interested in threatening sovereignty.” Vathelan set the new, revised edition of the document to the next one for comparison. It was mercifully shorter. And try as he might, he was unable to prevent himself from commenting on the implication made. “...Though one could quite reasonably take offense to such an insinuation. I am a professional. Not that she would particularly care, I am sure. She hasn’t seemed to in the past.” “I am really only interested in moving forward, in securing the assets that will help us win this war and empowering our people to better defend it. Enough time has been spent on indecision, for good reason to some extent, but at this point we need the extra resources. Both here and in Suramar.” Lord Cerryan picked up the new document and began to page through it for an initial scanning read. “I’ve no appetite for contentious personal opinions right now though, and will appreciate sticking to business until we’ve come to the signing.” Very Well. “You will noticed I removed much of the preface, that which stated the history of both groups to prove the point as to why we are compatible in terms of an alliance between us. The term of the Accords’ validity stay the same-- thirty days after an officially declared victory of this conflict as a sort of grace period should we seek to renegotiate terms of a continued partnership. It was fluff that may have been misconstrued in terms of legality. I will remain the Delegate-Ambassador that will serve as a representative of both organizations for the other. As such I will serve to fulfill Scryer interests here, and will serve to fulfill Sanctuary interests there.” He continued to recite his run down of the basics of the contract while Cerryan was allotted his chance to skim the Accords. “My service, besides ensuring both sides are treated fairly in terms of this treaty, will be in terms of requisitions for this war effort-- sadly, this will be incredibly costly and time consuming thanks to the insistence of running everything internally here rather than taking advantage of the larger infrastructure developed by the Scryers over their years as an organization. I must inform one of your officership of alterations and/or additions to anything relating to your new infrastructure that we will be required to construct. I am to manage these assets to ensure efficiency and security for all parties involved, but must follow command and will surrender reports should such be requested. Assets provided may or may not be limited to resources or weaponry for use on the field as per decided by said parties involved.” “We will be needing a diverse range of assets, to reinforce our own forces and resources against the Legion. Securing the final Pillar will open the path to stopping the invasion, but I grow ever more worried over how quiet the Broken Shore has been in the months since we arrived on the Isles. The accountability is a necessary facet of working with a third party, though my own experiences with the Scryers does not have me terribly worried.” Cerryan nodded as he continued working through the pages of the document. Smaller as it may be, it wasn’t short in length still. “There is… I believe it has already been discussed, but the insurance that sensitive information pertinent to Sanctuary remain within Sanctuary first, to be disseminated at our discretion. Our mission with the Relics and keeping them secure and not widely known is critical, and that aside; were there something like the a situation like miss Rylie, before she was sent off to board for her education, the sort of thing where the fewer external parties know the better. I have enough faith that it won’t arise as a point of concern, but assurance only fortifies faith.” “You will notice that the Vault and any mentions that could be related to such are entirely absent from the Accords. This is intentional.” An affirmation, a sign of faith. “The Scryers will, obviously, require tactical Intel however in order to further our battle-plans as we work the angles afforded to us that we have in play. This will keep our strategy running smoothly. That being said, I am both well aware as well as sympathetic to Sanctuary’s needs and desires for privacy in non-essential matters. This brings us to the compromise for both idealism and function in this ongoing crisis: To ensure the efficiency and satisfaction for both parties, I am to oversee and manage the assets brought in with a certain level of autonomy within reason. For example: All plausible services will be ran internally as well as I will be running under the officerships related to my duties. This requires me to submit to their authority and surrender anything in terms of collected Intelligence upon request. I must also inform you should I apply new or altered assets.” “I find that to be more than an acceptable compromise, and I trust you genuinely in the role you’ll be playing in this. For the most part I think that you reporting primarily to me makes sense, given my authority here and my relationship with the Scryers, unless I become unavailable or the criticality of a given matter requires the direct attention of the Commander. I will otherwise still be reporting Scryer-Sanctuary interactions with her, but at least for the Suramar campaign I will be in control of assets deployed to the front.” “And I will be reporting applicable concerns and solutions to the officership that is responsible for the relevant issue. Cooperation is required for us to with this war. None of us will be effective on their own, my lord.” Magister Vathelan presented the final page for his lord, an set of lines ready to be filled laid before Cerryan. One for Vathelan, One for him. The final was already filled out by a great man, the Seer who lead the Scryers to victory since their foundation. “And in that spirit, I would appreciate you calling a meeting of Sanctuary’s officership in the near future-- at their convenience of course-- as to ensure we are all on the same page in terms of what I plan to install within the coming months.” The Paladin nodded in agreement with the Magister. ‘I think that is a wise idea. I know both Baern and Vilmah have vested interest in the resources afforded by the Accords, and I think that after finally signing, it will be good to circle up and discuss how it’s going to impact things going forward.” “And I shall be happy to serve them.” Frostwhisper removed a pen from a case within his pocket and pressed with a gently but firm finger tip upon the back to make the vial inside bleed its enchanted ink upon the bladed edge. “If there is nothing else…” He offered the writing utensil to his lord. With a final sweep through the last few pages of the slimmer revised version of the Accords, Lord Cerryan Vyel was silent for a moments as he left Vathelan’s pen to awkwardly linger. He took a breath. Was something wrong? Vathelan tried to banish the creeping doubts. And then, at last, Lord Cerryan nodded and took the pen. He pressed it to the paper, his name coming out as a flowing script upon the line designated for him. “There, it is done, after much ado.” “Indeed. I already have the paperwork for the first series of orders pre-written. Considering the time it is going to take to synthesize the Arcane Communications Relay Crystal for the required infrastructure upgrades, I thought it prudent to cut out as much delay as possible.” His heart raced as he held his hand out back for his pen, he was so close to his second major victory in this entire campaign. “...So much to do, but at long last… We are finally upon the right path. We can do it, Sir. We can save this world.” “That is the goal, Vathelan. That is the dream.” He handed the pen back to the awaiting Magister. “That is everything.” “And it is my job to make such a dream possible, sir.” Vathelan smiled as he took the pen, at long last signing a document he had spent what had felt like an eternity to push through. His expression betrayed the joy and pride he felt in this hard earned victory as he pulled the pen from paper to admire the proof of his little footnote in history. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper, the poor bastard of an orphan all those years ago, the author of a document that would help lead to this world’s salvation from oblivion. If he could help it, this would be merely the beginning. He would prove he was worth more than anyone had bargained for. “And for the Arcane Notary…” His hand raised, his fingers forming a snap. It was a simple spell, but with it the ink’s magic ignited to make the document official. “There. I will need to deliver the treaty back to Headquarters, so that it can be secured so we can finally begin to realize our goal. Was there anything else you needed from me while I’m still here, my lord?” “For now, all I need is for these Accords to be submitted and made official as soon as possible. Afterwards I’d like to talk with you about involvement in the Suramar campaign, but I would put nothing above your current task.” Cerryan placed a hand upon the Magister’s shoulder. “Thank you for the work you’ve done, Vathlean. We will be better for it, and I’m sure it’s something Draco would’ve been proud of. Now. Be off, then. And come back as soon as you can. Oh, and send my warmest regards to Voren’thal. It has been some time since I’ve visited the old Seer.” “Y-you’re most welcome, Sir. That means… more than you know, coming from you, Sir-- My Lord, Sir.” Vathelan flushed with both embarrassment and the lingering shame. The touch of one of his heroes, his kind words, Vathlean deserved none of them as far as he was concerned. He bowed his head before trying to excuse himself before he ruined the moment further with his blustering as he collected the document. He needed air, air away from a man he admired so. Before leaving he halted at the door. “I will be around-- of course-- should you… should you need me, my office is the small one next to Praetor Baern’s. In case you didn’t know.” And with one final bow he made his departure from a hard fought victory. With Sanctuary, and the protection provisions he had put in place to buy him some more time, he knew he had significantly raised their chances of winning this war. But would it be enough? He didn’t know. He could only keep working to make it so.
  3. “Vathelan, there is no more time. The Legion is here, laying siege to our world and threatening our people like never before. We need to utilize every resource we have to stop them. You know that Draco would agree, if he could see how high the stakes were.” The scene from the night previous played within his mind over and over as Magister Frostwhisper marched up to his office with a black coffee in hand. How perfect that moment had felt, like out of some novel he would have written in the decades after this was all over, where the golden light of the setting sun was captured within the paladin’s armor. So perfect Vath had forgotten to ask about the recent scars that marred his lord’s once beautiful face. “The Accords. Bring them to my office as soon as you can. We are finishing this, so that our real work can begin.” Vathlean fished out the key to his office from his satchel that held the precious document he was promised would finally be signed. He set it within the door-- only to pause as he felt it was unlocked already. He felt a sense of dread sink within his stomach. Had his lord acted too late? Had they caught on to Vath’s plots already? Cautiously he removed his key from the door to his office, attempting to make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to alert the intruder on the other side of the door to his presence. While his motions to set his key back into his satchel were slow and controlled, his mind raced. Who was it? What did they want? What had they found? Where had he made the mistake that had gotten him caught? He stood there for nearly a minute as he deliberated, eventually coming to the conclusion that he was only going to make himself more suspicious as he stood in front of his door like this. Instead he would have to brave whatever lay before him, His arm went behind his back, conjuring water and drastically dropping the temperature to make a makeshift weapon to defend himself with as used his hand with the half cup of coffee to turn the door knob. He was not prepared for what was on the other side of the door. Where he had expected one of Raeventus’s Inquisitors, he instead found a tiny ball of white fluff trot towards him. It mewed expectantly, forcing the Magister to smile and bite back a small chuckle at his paranoia as he dismissed the spell… the chunk of ice dropping to the floor as he removed his glove and pulled up on of the sleeves of his uniform so that he could pick up the tiny creature while trying to prevent her white hairs from scattering all upon him before his important meeting. If little Munchkin was here, then her owner should be nearby as well. It didn’t take long for his eyes to spy the form of the scrunched up Death Knight who was still like a corpse. Carrying the little creature in one hand, he approached the woman before nudging her with his foot as he set the cup where it would be at her eye level. “You look like you could use this more than I.” She was slow to stir, it took a few seconds for her to even respond to the nudge. Blearily she halfway opened her eyes to look up in his direction. “Hnnwha…?” Oh, sir… sorry, sir…” she muttered as she yawned. “I must’ve fallen asleep after feeding Munchkin… I wanted to see you, but you weren’t here.” “It must have been important, if it was after business hours.” A smile that had formed naturally from seeing the kitten only grew as rolled his wrist to swish the coffee within its cup, still warm. “What can I do for you, Miss Cat?” Cat shakily stood and took the cup from his hands. She held it in her palms to warm them before she spoke. “...I’ve been in a pickle, sir. I’m just starting to climb out of it, but I figured you ought to know everything since it affects the way I’ll be helping you out in the future.” She looked down into the coffee, not daring to take a sip yet. “You know I was with the Ebon Blade when they attacked Light’s Hope Chapel. I’m sure everyone does… What I didn’t know is that Cerryan was one of the paladins that I injured, that day.” She continued before Vathelan had the chance to process this new information. “I didn’t know until T’suro told me, because I tried turning myself in. T’suro suggested I turn myself in to Cerryan, since he’s one of the people I hurt. I figured it was the right thing to do, so I did, but… he didn’t want to spare a moment on me. Like at all. That’s my judgement, I guess, that I wasn’t worth judgement. So… all I can do now to make up for the wrongs I’ve done is try and do good deeds. That’s why I wanted to see you. To see if maybe there’s anything I can do for you, to help save people. Like you always say you’re trying to do.” “...I...see…” The smile was gone, instead the cool mask of the Magister he used to hold to so often since he started trying to get get this alliance forged took its place. With a couple steps he found himself to where his chair was within his tiny office where he took his seat as he let the new information and its implications sink it. At the change in tone and demeanor, Cat lowered her eyes towards the dark liquid in the cup. The silence must have been deafening. “...I know I’ve done terrible things, sir. I don’t have any excuses for myself. All I can do is offer my services, and hope that I can help people. I’m a death knight, people hate me. I’ve already died more than once, so I know what death is. I also know I’m expendable.” That phrase lingered between them as she swallowed. “… whatever that means to you… I’m willing to do whatever I need to do to do some good before whatever is going to happen to me happens.” For minutes that felt like hours after she finished her plea, he remained silent as his stare lingered upon her. He was conflicted as the realization that those marrings upon his lord were her doing, and yet… that was nothing compared to what he had sent her to. Was such pettiness worth the fate of the world from neglecting such an asset? Of course not. He had a mission. A purpose that needed to be fulfilled, by any means necessary. He would continue his narrative, he had to. And at last, he finally spoke with a low and quiet tone. “...I know all too well what it means to be hated. If you are sincere in your desire to make amends; to dedicate your service to saving the world… I can’t do it alone, so I will accept this as your atonement. As it will be mine as well.” Miss Cat nodded slowly, but otherwise remained silent as she ventured a step toward to put down the cup he had offered her. “Then it is settled.” The Magister returned his own nod. “We’ll save this world. Together. And in doing so we’ll spurn those who hate us, who wish us to fail. Through this act, through our sacrifice we shall find our redemption. Are you with me?” She raised her eyes to meet his own. There was a determined look upon her face, clouded from her grief as it may be. “Always, sir.” “Good.” He forced a smile on his face as he raised from his chair. He knew well what awaited him at the end of the path he was following, but he wasn’t going to stop him! He couldn’t let it. Even more so, he needed to banish away the doubts and fears of those who followed him. And so he struck a dramatic pose as he pointed to the heavens. The cat in his arm climbed upon his shoulder to keep her perch. “Then save the world together we shall!” He nearly shouted, lying to himself enough to believe it as his smile became more genuine. “First the Accords, then the Shattered Son! Together we’ll get through this! Together we’ll stop the Legion!” The response to his attempts was less than stellar as Miss Cat tried to smile in spite of herself. She cleared her throat, nodded and raised a fist into the air. “...w-woo!” Close enough. At least she tried. The Magister gave a small smile to reassure her as he bowed his head. “Alas, I must apologize for my short stay. It is my hope that today is the day that at long last we solidify the ties between Sanctuary and the Scryers. May it be today that we finally take the steps required to take the fight to the enemy rather than being backed into the corners of the world.” He gently plucked the kitten from his shoulder and handed her back to her rightful owner. “But if you wish to stay here until I return, you are welcome to do so.” And with that Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper of the Scryers marched from his office from the courage he had summoned down the hall towards where his lord would be awaiting him. Courage gave way to determination. He would make this work. For he had to. Not just for himself, this was beyond him. He would do this for the Sin’dorei. He would do this for Azeroth. And with that, his knuckles would grace the door of Lord Cerryan Vyel of House Visca, the second in command of Sanctuary-- an organization where he never felt belonged, but he kept fighting for. An organization he was going to use to bring salvation to the world with.
  4. That unknown location that Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper had selected for their privacy was quickly apparent: The Crater where Dalaran had originally once rested in the days before the Wars of Northrend. The very instant they popped back into reality, one of the natural forces of the universe, Gravity once more tried to claim them as its prizes. Miss Cat gripped harder upon the Magister’s arms as the cloth of his robe billowed out like a malfunctioning parachute. Fortunately, the Magister had anticipated this, and the freefall was cut short with a Slow Fall spell. The two looked as if they were dancing as they floated towards the ground, twirling as Vathelan guided them to a particularly nice section of the clearing below them. Vathelan was taller, allowing him to find his feet gently planted on the ground first. He used this leverage in an attempt to better manipulate her descension further in hopes of securing as gentle a landing for her. What he didn’t account for was how much her armor and axe weighed, nor her newfound fear of falling-- in spite of her warning him when she spoke of the Ebon Blade. Instead with a small thud her boots hit the ground and she threatened to fall backwards even as the Magister reeled her back in. When she was secure upon the ground, Vathelan was the first to speak. “You wished to talk in private?” The trip had clearly been jarring for the poor woman, and he felt a tinge of guilt as she blinked and tried to steady her breath. “Woah… uh…. Yeah. Uh… About Suramar.” She carefully looked at their surroundings before she began her report. Such a use of caution warmed the Magister’s heart. “I couldn’t get very far. I tried to find him, your friend, but… I couldn’t. I wanted to know what you want me to do next. I don’t know if the Ebon Blade will try and get me again.” “That… does complicate things, yes.” The news wasn’t great, troubling even. But it wasn’t exactly unexpected on many fronts. His dark brows furrowed as he considers this information and calculates it against a multitude of variables. Both known and unknown, he makes the best educated guesses he could with the information he had and suspected. Did this mean the Lord-General was being cautious? Or had something happened? He tried to think of something to say, Miss Cat had been so faithful to his mission. “...The meeting should give us a better ideas as to what is going on there in Suramar. I’m hoping with something like this being called, there are some promising developments. Also, with the Captain keeping an eye on Borrowed Time for me, I should be able to return my gaze back upon Sanctuary.” For better or worse. “It is my hope that they might be able to present new opportunities in bringing a favorable end to this war. But… for now, we’ll have to figure out how to better protect you.” At this comment Cat lowered her eyes to the ground, the guilt that ate her from the inside covering her face like a veil. “I hate that I’ve put people in this position. That I’ve become a liability. I… I owe you in more ways than I can admit. I don’t know how, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. However I can.” Now it was his turn to have guilt stab him in the chest. He had sent her into a situation of horrible experimentation just for the off chance to free one of his personal heroes. Sure, he told himself it was because he believed that the Lord-General was key to defeating the Legion… But was that all it was? But for now he would have to keep up his lies, for the greater good of the world. He allowed his mask of warmth to cover his face with a gentle smile. “Hey.” His right hand guided itself onto her cheek and to her chin, forcing her to look back at him and that smile. “We’ll figure this out together. I’m just... Glad I could do some good.” Not an entire lie. He was very thankful for the results of the Magister’s Gambit. “I… just need need some time to devise something. I know that’s a luxury we’re quickly running out of… but I can figure something out. I always do.” Her lips trembled. Whether it be from the touch or his words, he couldn’t be sure. Either way the effect was a good indicator to him as she spoke. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. ...I mean, I’ll go somewhere…” She bit at her lips. “I’ll be at the guild hall. It would be weird for me to stay at the port without Kreyen… I guess… I’m on my own, now. Again.” “You’re not alone, Miss Cat.” He corrected as he shook his head. “You’re part of my team. And together we’re going to support the Late Lord-General. We’re going to help him save this world.” The warmth of Frostwhisper became much more genuine, radiating at higher degrees with each sentence. He believed every word he said, he had to. This was his purpose in life, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t. Instead, for her as much as himself he reiterated their goal to make it manifest itself as their destiny. “We’re going to save the world.”
  5. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper had taken little to no time to savor his recent victories; neither that of stopping the Mad Illidari or leveraging his influence to install one of his personal agents within their ranks. The rebuilding efforts were already proving costly in terms of supplies and in time estimates. Nothing could be done about this, clearly, but the Legion wasn’t going to wait for them. So he went back to work from the dining table of the apartment that now belonged to his agent. Paperwork remained scattered about it, sorted into piles. To his left were those which he had received, to the right were those he was to send out. Each faction had their own separate pile, the most urgent matter on the top. In the center before him was a singular envelope of distinct stationary addressed to him: that of the scorning organization of Sanctuary. Out of his perfirals he saw his agent, Captain Raphael Vanderzee, stand from his seat at the table as he set his bottle back upon the table. “Gotta take a piss.” Vulgar as he was, Vath couldn’t deny the man got the jobs required of him done. As such the Magister gave him nothing more than an absent minded nod as he continued his calculation on funds to direct towards one of the forward teams on the field. He hardly registered the sounds of running water, nor did he let the ensuing shouting distract him. A knock at the door mercifully drew the shouting further away to allow the Magister to finish this segment of the budgets he was charged with. What followed were murmurings from the front door, the first clear thing to him was the shouting of his dependable bodyguard, Kirital. “No you don’t get to just break off and answer the door like everything is fine! Who the fuck just barges into the bathroom and-” The voice went too quiet for Vathelan to hear, merciful as he totaled up the sum this would cost the Scryers and House Visca. All it needed was his signature now. “Frosty? Ye--” The Captain started, his voice getting highly agitated by something. “--MY Bathroom. And yeh were takin’ ta long. And I told yeh ta put on some bloody clothes! No one wants ta see yeh naked!” “Know who never complained until you came along? Vathelan.” The Magister nearly choked on the air he swallowed from this comment. What in the world was going on out there? “Besides, no ones to wake up at three in the morning and hear you with whoever you brought home for the night.” “ Vathelan not here, then?” A feminine voice raised to be heard over the arguing pair of half-elves. She sounded familiar, but he couldn’t figure out exactly who it was over the two men arguing. “That be because the boy’s meek. An’ then it’s a damn good thin’ yeh be leavin’ soon, ain’t it? Though… I know a liar when I see ‘un. Not me fault yeh be jealous of me catches.” All right, that’s far more than enough. The Magister set down his paperwork and finally made himself known. “Gentlemen, would you kindly refrain from embarrassing me in public? Allow our guest in.” Kirital had the last word, scoffing at the notion as the trio entered back into the apartment proper. “I ain’t beddin’ anyone ‘cuz I don’t want Vathelan t’ feel awkward.” Further adding to the embarrassment of his charge. The slightly larger of the half-elves ran a hand through his damp hair before swaggering away towards one of the bedrooms. “I’ll go get fuckin’ dressed, then.” “Uh… Vath?” With one of them gone, their guest came into full view. Miss Cat was at least a foot shorter than both of the men, making it understandable as to why he hadn’t gotten a chance to greet her as of yet. Though her current state was enough to concern him. She looked utterly exhausted, and she had obviously gone through some sort of major conflict recently. The regenerative powers of the blood of the Shattered Son that flowed through her hadn’t set her back to her base state as of yet. Bruises littered what parts of her body he could see. Even still, he tried to give her a warm and reassuring smile. “Good Evening, Miss Cat.” From behind the woman, Captain Van wove out of eyesight to find his seat back to his place at the table, marked with a half empty bottle of liquor of some sort and his pack of smokes. Kirital was surprising not far behind, reclothing himself and setting a thick sandwich down on the table along with a heavy glass of milk. Normally this would bring up questions, but the Magister was too focused on other matters instead. “Uh… h-hi. Umm….” The Death Knight woman looked at the men before her at the table. A Magister, a pirate and a hairy brawler in short shorts. Vath could only guess what she must be thinking right about now. His smile widened in an attempt to re-encourage her. “I… uh… I went to Suramar. It… I-it didn’t go well.” “Suramar is a warzone, from what I have gathered.” The smile faded, the Magister hiding any hint of understanding of the deeper meaning behind her words from all those gathered at the table. “I am saddened to hear a friend of mine had hardship there, but I am glad to see you returned to us still in one piece.” He hoped that was enough for her to catch his double meaning here, but his attention would be ripped away from the task at hand momentarily. The Captain had set a cigarette to his lips and shifted his body weight as he fished for his mechanical lighter to light it. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from that habit while I’m in the room.” “I… yeah. I guess… I guess it’s pretty bad there…” Miss Cat lowered her eyes to the table, all the while the scolded Half-elf grumbled as he put the lighter away. “...A-actually… the Ebon Blade got me… and I escaped, but, I had to jump out of the Acherus. So I broke like… every bone in my body, but I got back. And I’m pretty sure they’ll try again.” A pause before Vathelan responded, his framed eyes making it a point to make direct eye contact. “That is troubling news, indeed.” His tone sounded uninterested, as if merely humoring her. But his eyes spoke a different story. As if he needed to talk to her later in private. His hand rested upon the envelope that rested before him. “Are you coming to the meeting that was called for tonight?” “Um… um yeah.” The tiny Death Knight tugged on her pigtails in distress. “Also… Kreyen got hurt real bad. Lost his memory. He doesn’t know who I am.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m having a really bad day.” “...I’m really sorry to hear that.” Vathelan abandoned his paperwork before him as he slid his chair from the table. As he stood the robe, not being tailored to be a proper fit, billowed outwards in the air. The Magister moved closer to her, opening his arms to offer her a gentle and reassuring hug. ...This is what normal people did to comfort friends, correct? He certainly hoped this was the right course of action. Upon embrace the woman burst into tears as she clung to his arms. “Being a death knight sucks so bad!” Frostwhisper held her close, maneuvering where he could look at his companions as he sought advice as to what he was supposed to do in this situation. The look of confusion was obvious. Kirital gave a gentle smile of reassurance, the Captain only rewarded an amused smirk as he propped his legs back upon the table. The look of confusion briefly turned into ire at the man before his attention refocused on his friend. He tried to soothe her with a cooing, “I know, I know.” Even if he clearly had no experience as a Death Knight himself. “Cat, can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” Kirital was a Light-send as he offered his aid, taking some of the pressure of this emotional situation off the ill-equipped Vathelan. “… thanks Kit. I just… W-what should I do?” She leaned into one of the Half-elf’s arms, her bruised face twisted with the ugly crying. “The Ebon Blade wants to kill me because I left… my fiancé doesn’t know who I am… Cerryan hates me… why does everything suck so bad??” “We’ll find a way to protect you from the Ebon Bla-- wait. Cerryan?” Now Vathelan’s mind was racing with a hundred questions. Did this mean his lord had returned from his unexplained absence? Maybe there was a sliver of hope that the Sanctuary situation could still be salvaged? “Ah, the Ol’ Drunk is still around, eh?” The Captain smiled, presumably from some memory. But Vathelan didn’t know of any battles with alcoholism that this hero had. None of it was in any reports he knew of. “...I wonder if he’ll finally let me buy ‘im a whore fer o’ night now, get ‘im ta relax fer once.” Okay make that a Hundred and Five questions now. And counting. At this comment Miss Cat erupted into a renewed rampage of tears. Kirital smirked as he bit back his newfound ire for the Captain, and he retaliated with a quick kick to the remaining tips of the other half-elf’s chair that remained upon the ground in an attempt to startle him. Van’s quickdraw grip upon the table to keep his balance himself was impressive, if not a little worrisome, as he returned the chair to be back on all fours. It would take some time for the comforting of the two men, but eventually they were able to talk the distraught woman down enough for her to collect her thoughts. Sniffling as she wiped her face with the backs of her hands, she steadied her breathing. “...Sir… Can… Can I talk to you alone?” “Of course. Is there somewhere specific you wish to go?” Vathelan offered an encouraging smile. “Uh, no… no, just…” She shook her head slowly, before her eyes darted towards the half-elf men in the room. Then her gaze drifted back down towards the floor. “...Wherever we can go to be alone. Somewhere we won’t have to worry about anyone else listening.” “I see…” The Magister considered various locations that he could whisk them away to quickly, yet would fulfill this need. Somewhere he wouldn’t be expected to go would be best. “...Do you still have business here? Something that you cannot be delayed from?” Her response was quick. A shake of her head. “No. My only business here is… I guess… somewhere else.” “I see.” Excellent. “One moment then, please allow me to gather my things and we shall be on our way.” And he did just that as he relinquished his embrace from his friend. Collecting each pile and setting them into various folders, casing his writing pen, retrieving the ruined robe from the battle; all of it would once again find itself in his trusty satchel. Before returning to the woman, his bespectacled gaze rested upon his bodyguard. “I will see you at the meeting, Kirital.” And with that a portal flared up between the two parties. A way for him to return back to Dalaran. When the Magister was satisfied he offered his embrace to the Death Knight once more, “Ready?” Cat nodded as she accepted the offer, “I’m ready.” She glanced back at the portal that divided the room, where Kirtial and Captain Van would still be lingering as magic began to swell and flow around them before stealing them away from that apartment and to some unknown location.
  6. For a brief moment, one that felt longer than it truly lasted, there was a silence that fell between the two people that remained within this office. The sigh from Dora as she sunk within the chair that was too big for her was all that was heard as seconds ticked in what felt like minutes. Vathelan cast his gaze away, uncertain if it was really wise to bring up something so meaningless. He pondered if this was truly a mistake-- but that train of thought was shattered when she once again broke the silence. “Right!” She clapped, drawing his attention back to reality as she jolted in her seat. The act of that of the Boss of Borrowed Time was no more, instead sat before him was the woman he admired once more. “So, Vath- that was your first big battle, huh? How are you doing?” “I suppose… that would be accurate.” He couldn’t look directly at her still, the melancholy was far too apparent. If his voice or gaze didn’t give it away, he was sure his ears did. Even still he tried to press on. “...I will continue to do what I must to save this world, even if that requires me to use a more hands-on approach. Dora…” Here it goes. He inwardly braced himself for what was to come as he took a breath, though the frosted exterior from earlier melted away. “...I thought I lost you. I thought-- I thought Hope had been lost.” His head turned away now, leaving her to study the burn of color upon his cheeks. “...All before…” He left the words linger, not daring to finish that sentence. “There’s always that risk of losing people in war. It doesn’t get any easier when you do lose them. It just hurts differently.” “And that is what I am here to do, Dora. To reduce the risk for your people.” His voice surged with another desperate determination. These two sentences were declarations as he tried to stay focused, the next part served as an attempt to reassure them both in the face of the danger. “I… will endure. Until the end. For you, for the Lord-General.” “...Maybe find a reason to endure for more than just your ideals.” It took her a moment to word her concern, his notable lack of self preservation. “Look around you, Vath. We’re more than just our dreams. There’s an entire present that’s happening around you. Stop and embrace it every once in a while, okay? Promise?” “A present I have no future in.” All Vathelan could muster was a sad smile as he shook his head. “I wish I could make such promises, but, I understand the harsh reality before us. This will not end well for me in the end. I knew this, and I still acted-- I had to. As consequence, I’m well aware that I’m running out of time. I’m not a hero. Far from it.” They have had this conversation in the past, on Heroism and the philosophy regarding the concept. And a repeat of it loomed above the duo, until it was cast aside. “Time will tell. Life’s going to keep testing all of us.” She shrugged as she stood and rounded the desk. “Thanks, though. For being there when you could have taken a step back.” “We both know I couldn’t do that.” Was his retort as he stood.“...Not while you were in danger. You’re far too valuable, both professionally and in personal terms.” She paused as she was, caught in the motion of preparing to escort him to the door. Instead she peered at the Magister, in the robes that are just slightly too big for his frame and the little quirk of the corner of his mouth. “Right.” She laughed, her feet taking her back near his chair. “I think your negotiations with the Boss of Borrowed Time would look very different without me.” Her hands slipped into the pockets of her trousers. “As for- personal… well. I’m a bit lost, still, when things get more complicated.” A pause. “Really terrible at that, actually. And, alright, to be honest, a bit exhausted by it all? Not- not really in the business of bothering with it.” “I see…” His face kept that same melancholy smile from earlier, as if the rejection hadn’t come as a surprise. “I’m not particularly… familiar with these types of scenarios either. I do not want to cause any additional stressors to your situation here, nor do I… expect anything to come from this. Dora, I’m a commoner, I don’t own an acre of land, a troop to command nor an ounce of fame to my name. I’m not a hero-- how could I ever think you would…?” He sighed as he shook his head. “Vath… if you knew me, you’d know that none of that stuff matters much.” She unfolded herself from the unsure, hunched figure she had bent into while she tentatively smiled in his direction. “I don’t need money, or- or a legacy. But, I could use friends. And that’s… you know, enough for me right now.” “I figured, but this is the reality of the situation. I will remain your friend so long as you will have me… but would you please forgive me for this selfish indulgence?” His green eyes behind his glasses look at her as he summoned the courage to continue when she made no objections. “I’ve been hated my entire life, and I expect it to continue well after my short bitter life comes to an end. No matter what I have done, it has always the wrong decision. And-- I digress.” He shook his head as he offered his hand in a similar fashion upon the night before the battle. It lingered as she hesitates. Until she at last took it, though timid in her action. His hand wraps around her in hopes of reassurance before he continued this one time indulgence. “I want to, first, thank you for being my first friend in this miserable word. And I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, I don’t want you to feel pressured by my actions… I… I want to be worthy of your trust. And for that to happen, I feel I should be completely honest. Or as honest as my profession allows, at least.” He talked, keeping best as he could to his train of thought as the words finally flow. “...I love you, Dora Arath’dorei. I tell you this, not because I expect you to love me back. Not because I want something from you. No. I say this… I say this because I loathe the idea of holding onto this. To regret every word I never said while I had the chance.” Dora gaped at the confession, surreal as her hand remained still within his. “I-” She attempted, only to trip on her own words and thoughts. For once since he had known her, she seems stunned and wordless. “...But, as I said, I don’t expect you to reciprocate such a notion.” He gave a small shrug as he offered a reassuring smile as he fought against the urge to avert his eyes in embarrassment. “...I simply figured that I should say it. While I have my chance. Before the consequences of my actions catch up to me.” “Wait,” she blurted. “What consequences? What actions?” “All of them.” His smile faded, a grim expression took its place. “There are things I have done, more of which I shall do. And I am… pardon the expression… living on borrowed time. Someone such as myself ‘playing hero’? ...Well…” He forced a laugh, it was hollow. His caressing grasp of his hands loosened in spite of his attempt to hide his fear. “It never ends well. If I’m lucky to survive this war, then I’m sure my court martial will finish me off. But, if I can save the world, if I can save you… then it’ll be worth it.” “You’re expecting me to listen to all that and take a step back?” Where his grasp may have loosened, she now gripped at his hand like an anchor. “I let you walk into a fight where the odds were stacked against us, heavily, but I did that because I knew if I was in your position I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer! Vath, you can’t expect me to just let you march into whatever it is you’re up against without telling me what’s going on!” “I wish it were that simple…” The Magister lowered his head, both flattered at her passion for him and shamed in how right she was in how unfair this seemed. “What’s most important is saving Azeroth right now. It’s better you don’t know, not before I have a plan at least.” “How long are you going to keep me in the dark?” She insisted, her form looming into his space. “How many times am I going to be side-stepped before you can give me an answer, Vathelan? Because this isn’t the first time you’ve brushed me off.” “It’s the nature of working with classified infor…” His tone started off defeated at first as his eyes found themselves planted upon where their hands met, unable to look her in the face as the guilt was eating at him. Then he noticed a seemingly meaningless detail to the untrained eye, but important to those who knew the significance: his cufflinks were missing from his person. His brows knit at this detail, did this mean he really could speak freely? Maybe more so than he usually would given his need for subterfuge against his own organization. “...A lot is going on, and more still. Do you remember what I told you I did fun on our first outing? After the hunting trip?” “You worked for fun,” she sighed as she released him to slouch into a backwards lean with the desk lip hitting her hip. Her impatience leaked within her words as he strained her limits, her arms folded across her chest. “Read articles, right?” “Yes.” He had to weigh his word choice, even if he could trust her. Even if he couldn’t be spied on through his cufflinks, who knew what other ways they could discover what he divulged? “...I’ve read articles I shouldn’t have been able to. My security clearance in terms of information is, well, higher than it should be expected given my position.” “You flagrantly disobeyed the hierarchy.” Worried for her friend as she may be, she couldn’t help but crack an amused smile. “Spirits, but this is why I don’t mess with the bureaucracy of organizations like the Scryers. Would do my head right in, and I’ve got an awful poker face.” “I… know things I shouldn’t.” How he envied her levity, that bright light in these darkest nights. “We knew the Legion would return someday, and we have been preparing for it. We’ve developed things for such a scenario. And… I was on one of these projects, before I was sent to Sanctuary.” That got her attention. “So what happened?” “He escaped.” He could see the vague intel he had just divulged work its way into her expression, that realization of the implications exonerating him--at least partially--in his dodginess in telling her exactly what was wrong, what he had done. How it would paint a target on her back. “And you can’t find him.” “...I helped facilitate his escape.” Vathelan shifted to take his place beside her, leaning on the desk as he tried to figure out how much he could feed her in terms of information. “Admittedly, I didn’t think she’d actually be able to cause it… but…” “Before we start needing to label persons A and B, I need to know why you felt you had to release a- a ‘Project’ into the world without authorization. What were your justifications?” “...Because of whom he is.” Vathelan looked back at the door, feelings of discomfort and outrage waring within his chest. His voice got heated as he tried to explain his reasonings, while not disclosing the identity on the man.“The Legion is here, at our very doorsteps, and they didn’t even want to use him. So I forced their hand. When I did that they wanted to hinder him. They’re risking… everything. He may very well be our best hope, we should be supporting him. Not chaining him down so he can’t do what needs to be done to bring about our salvation.” “...alright. Okay. Okay okay.” Dora reached up to scrub furiously at her hair, her shaggy black mane that she tosses back with a hint of the Wild in her. “Okay. The second,” she pivoted in his direction, her finger pointed like a gun. “The moment I can help, you’re gonna call me. I mean it. Private channel on my comm. No excuses. You’ve given me probably way more than you should have, and I’m not going to ask anymore, but promise that when you have a plan you fill me in.” “As much as I loathe the idea of putting you in danger of my actions… you may very well be right. This might be too big for me to do alone.” He sighed. “I am working on a plan, and I do have a lead on how to find him. I’m sending Her back where he said they would beet. The problem is… this is extremely delicate. I have to use the utmost subtly, lest I get all of us caught. If that happens, they’ll probably just sedate him again. And as for me… I’ll be…” In a fate worse than death. He swallowed air, unable to finish the sentence. He knew what happened to traitors. It would be as if he had never existed. “Then don’t get caught. Do what you have to, and when the time is right, you’ll seek me out.” “Of course.” Vath nodded, a hint of a smile gracing his features only to vanish as the threats of the past once more began to echo through his mind. If things went sour, which was most likely the probable course of action, he was going to put her directly within harm’s way. Was he really okay with this? “Okay,” she repeated as her finger lowered. Again, a little softer. “Okay. We’ll get it figured out. Just… try to get some sleep, alright? And send Captain Vanderzee into my office in the morning to go over his contract.” Could he really do this to her? She wanted to get closer, not minding to see the first hints of his sins-- of his shame, and the threat he posed to those who dared get close to him. And yet she remained as loyal and steadfast as ever, wanting to help. Was it not fair to let her in on his suicide of a crusade? He stood upright and headed for the door. He wasn’t sure this was a promise he could keep. Even still he smiled back at her. “...You know, you really should visit me in Shattrath one of these days.” She returned the smile, a very glad one at that. “When things calm down here, I...I can probably get away. Be nice to finally see that memorabilia collection you’re so proud of.” “I would love to show you, there’s a lot of history there. Assuming things ever calm down enough to allow it.” He stretched the smile into the biggest, most winning look he could muster over his shoulder before exiting into the moonlit port. When the door closed, his facade finally broke. Raeventus’s voice echoed through his mind as his pulse began to race, his body threatening to keel over in a panic attack all the way back to the apartment. He would barely manage it. “Where you have treaded, death will follow. I will burn down the entirety of House Visca: His wife, son, brothers and niece… all of them will pay for your trespass. I will erase Sanctuary from existence. I will bomb Dalaran out of the sky, I will return their last bastion of hope in Orgrimmar back to the ashes from whence it raised from. I will imprison your little friend… the Arath’dorei girl, she will learn the truth of you, she will learn why she will be brought to her fate was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. And then you will Beg me to end your life, what I will do to you once I am done will become a merciful killing, have I made myself clear?”
  7. “All I’m sayin’, Lad, is all work and no play makes Vath a dull boy.” Since the Magister had cleaned up and dressed in robes of his usual uniform—albeit now a size or so too big for him—the Captain had deemed it appropriate to counsel his employer with his ‘worldly advice’. It wasn’t entirely welcome. “Might be why she rejected yeh for another suitor.” “…Thank you, Captain.” He spoke through gritted teeth as they stood before the door to the office, his hand hovered before the door as he gave his employee a pointed look. “But for now, we have a task at hand. Please stay focused.” Vathelan awaited some sort of rebuttal, which thankfully seemed to not come forward. Instead the Captain nodded, and at this indication of him finally falling into line, Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper knocked upon the door of the office. The meeting could at last begin, and their dealings could proceed. "Enter!" He forced aside the feelings that lingered within as he opened the door, retreating back into the mask of the Magister persona. It mattered not their history, he reminded himself, what mattered was coming to a compromise that would benefit Azeroth. Cleaned and groomed, he looked as a man of his station should. Now he just had to act it. Which was harder as he saw her, adorned in a military uniform. His heart faltered for a mere moment before he redoubled his efforts. When he managed to speak, his voice came out more cold, the distance so palpable that it would concern them both. “Lady Arath’dorei.” “Magister, Captain.” She smiled as she gestured towards the chairs before taking her own behind the desk. “Evening, you two.” “Evenin’, Miss.” The Captain remained in the doorway, respectfully tipping his hat in the Lady’s direction, even if refusing to take the offered seat for the time being. Vathelan hesitated for a moment before finally complying. His voice still carried the clinical tone as he tried to focus on business, not what his heart yearned for. “I am sure you remember why this meeting was scheduled?” “We’re here to talk about resources, or at least the allocation of them.” She nodded in the Captain’s direction before setting her forearms upon the desktop as she leaned in; closing the circle to create a space where it is just them now, where nothing would interfere with the topic at hand. “I explained the kind of situation I’m in, with the developing the morale of the company. We need that now more than ever, but we also certainly could use resources. You sounded like you had a suggestion that would satisfy the both of us.” “Hope is a precious resource, though not finite.” He echoed the same notions he had written to her in recent weeks leading up to this all, his eyes averted for a moment before once again focusing on the matter at hand. “But to do so requires careful cultivation. We spoke of your hesitance to take our aid, as it may damage morale, and I suggested that we may have ways around that-- a few, actually, at least in the eyes of your company.” “Go ahead and lay ‘em out for me, then.” Her dimpled smile threatened to melt his demeanor even now. “I’m listening.” “Either way, it appears to me that we must make the aid acquired to seem as if it comes from an internal source. This will require new perceived origins. For starters, the Arath’dorei and Rayfeather families are well invested into your Company, are they not?” Dora took a moment to respond, the leather of the chair seat stretched as she leaned back a scant inch. “Faelenor is Second in Command. I’m not sure about his reputation among the rest of the company, really. He has a strong network and his name certainly gets around. Amalyn has earned a lot of trust among the ranks as a healer and a person to seek for counsel. As for the Arath’doreis… my mom has been a member for a while now. I know some of our company members look at her as a Veteran. She’s fought in enough battles that she’s earned some clout. She’s MIA, though.” Another pause. She sucked in her bottom lip for a brief moment. “So is Amalyn.” “That… was not my intent. I am sorry to hear about this, and should you wish, I am willing to lend you aide as a personal favor in finding them-- unofficially obviously. Their reputation, should we able to find them, or… if need be, your own, gives us an opportunity. No one is likely to question such a prestigious family that is well recognized as the leadership for this company in supplying resources you require to get back on your feet.” He paused, allowing her to absorb the offer and to mentally working out a way to address the next part. He knew of at least some of the Scryer financial operations, that which helped fund their missions across both worlds in which they operated. He also knew how it would look to some. “...Furthermore should you, ah, purchase from certain companies-- we can ensure they send you more than you paid for. And then… there is one final route I have devised.” “Okay,” she mumbled as she scribbled something quick within the margin of her day’s logs before her eyes lifted to meet him once more. “And the other route?” Vathelan couldn’t help but stare back into her eyes as they once again made contact, his mind threatening to veer off course into some romantic fantasy. His face turned, giving him a moment away as he addresses the man behind him. “Captain, would you please have a seat?” From behind the Magister the Half-elf Captain watched their display, seeming less interested in their politics than in the body language of the two. He shifted from the door frame, taking little more than a step before came an unceremonious rattling of the office’s door as it swung open. It revealed an elf with raven hair that flowed around his shoulders. His eyes shifted from the acting Boss of Borrowed Time, to the Magister and then to the Half-elf who practically stood at his side and greeted with a cocked brow before calling with a snarky tone, “Is this a bad time? Or should I come back when you do not have a pair of gentlemen callers oh Boss Sister?” He chortles, swaggering his way in with a lackadaisical stride. “In the middle of a serious meeting, Phy.” The sister in question frowned as her gaze shifted from Magister to her brother. The brother’s eyes darted between the three in the room, seeming to measure each in turn as a hand rested upon one of the twin pommels of his deferentially-runed blades at his waist. He moved closer to the desk, aiming for behind the desk and towards the windowsill. “Allriiight…” “The kind where you walk out of the room and lock the door behind you,” Dora adds. The look of shock was obvious upon the young man’s face before it faded as his gaze shifted away and his mouth hard-lined. “Fine.” He managed to mumble out before making good on her order, leaving the room back to their meeting. When the door clicked shut, the signs of sudden weariness were obvious upon the the woman’s expression. She rubbed the back of her neck and took some time to gather herself back into the conversation. “I’m sorry,” she said as she let her hand drop. “You were saying?” “Ah… so that was the Phyruss you spoke of when we met.” Vathelan gave a small smile, both to reassure her and at the memories of that night played within his head. “Yeah, my brother. He’s- I wish you’d meet him at a better time. He’s very sweet, and really clever…” The moment hung for both of them, it seemed. That which was shattered as Captain Van cleared his throat behind them. “...But back to business?” Her quill raised again at the suggestion. “Okay, so we were discussing various routes to take for this supply. Using family reputations is one idea. What was the other you were going to suggest?” “Yes. We discussed utilizing your and the listed family’s reputation to remove doubt, or using certain companies in order to to maximize your resource gains-- the final is a new recruit.” He motioned once more to the Captain, giving him the floor. “I was contracted by yeh, ‘is contract is offically over.” He eyed the Magister before looking back at the his potential new boss. “Buy me out. I’ve got a bit ‘o history wit’... shall we say ‘requisitions’, yer boss man will be sure to find that. So I’ll just be deliverin’ on that by hittin’ up the ol’ business, from teh look o’ it… it’ll be part as me o’ membership, aye?” “It’s a thought,” she conceded, “But if you’re suggesting that we have one new recruit provide a substantial amount of provisions, enough to make an impact on an entire company, it might raise some suspicions. I don’t think it could hurt to… maybe have a balance of the suggestions. Have sources trickle in from various outlets. As long as we don’t have any more strangers to prop us up, no one loses face.” She looked at the both of the men. Vathelan seemed as serious as always when it came to work; the Captain merely shrugged. “We can sign you on, Captain Vanderzee. And I’ll talk to some of our suppliers to clear the new source of shipments. But,” she notified the pair, “If anyone asks, I’ll be transparent about where the supplies are coming from.” “I would have to agree with you that, yes, it would be wise not to use one avenue exclusively. Nor will we be granting everything in one massive sum as to avoid such suspicions, if it pleases you.” Magister Frostwhisper gave a small diplomatic nod. “If you wish to reveal your source should you be asked, well, that is your prerogative. With the current plan in place, we will have to resort to supplying you with resources alone, unfortunately, but… it should be enough to get you back upon your feet and ready for what is to come.” “Great, am I keepin’ the room we’ve been stayin’ in… or…?” “If you’re settled there already, I don’t see why not.” She addressed the Captain with a little amused grin. “Unless there’s a problem with it?” “Ain’t ever really settled anywhere.” The Captain returned his most fetching grin. “But I can move in, soon as teh roommates take their leave.” “Now… what I ask in return is, relatively simple. We are fine remaining anonymous, all we ask is once you are recovered and supplied that you take the fight to the Legion. They threaten us all. And… should they find out we were behind your supply, you paint a favorable picture for us as to keep your company on the right path and keep them open to continuing to accept our donations and perhaps even greater boons in the future. We’re in the business of defending and preserving our people, I would like to think that saving the world would fall under that.” “Right. Look,” she sighed. “I’m glad we have some terms that we can come to that look agreeable on paper. Here’s the thing. The actual Boss needs to sign off on this. The only precedent we have for decision making and extreme shifts of power like this was when my… when my dad left. He was declared KIA, and that was it. Cobrak took over. But Cobrak is alive and here, just not… responsive yet.” She swayed forward, her eyes held an ernest approach to them. This was much more pleasant than any conversations he had with Commander Laine in terms of Sanctuary accepting Scryer Aid. “All I can promise right now is that when Faelenor and Cobrak wake up, I’ll present your case to the both of them. If it’s from me, they’ll hear me out. I know that much.” “That is all I can hope for then, Dora.” Vathelan smiled, “the Legion is a threat to us all. He would be a fool not to see this. We are not asking for an official allegiance should he not trust us, we are simply trying to enable the right organizations to be the most effective against a threat that seeks total annihilation of all life. As for Lord-General Rayfeather of a branch of the Scryers, when he wakes… I would like to speak to him. But that is neither here nor there at current.” “I’ll notify you as soon as I can, when Faelenor wakes up.” “That should help this partnership in… considerable measures.” The smile lingered, only to falter when he looked back at his employee. One that was going to set him back more than he cared to entertain the thought of. Even a Magister’s salary was far from unlimited. Even still he forced his smile to return as he addressed the Captain. “ Congratulations, consider yourself hired on a full time salary.” All he was rewarded for his efforts was a noncommittal grunt. Well, that certainly wasn’t encouraging. Vathelan tried to push that thought aside, however, “Anything else, Dora?” She shook her head. Some of her long, luscious, locks spilled down her front. He was reminded of statues of a certain goddess that he had seen in Reliquary files. “Nothing business-wise. I wonder how you’re holding up.” “Pardon?” He raised a brow, taken by surprise. A moment of recovery, and then he looked back at the Captain. Who was smiling at him. “Should… we have some privacy?” “Hah, well- I guess this is a sort of sensitive topic. Uhm,” her smile at the captain may have been hard to decipher for Vathelan. But Vanderzee knew what it meant. “For a few moments, I guess.” “Then you are dismissed, Captain.” Vathelan mimicked the tone of a military official, though he was uncertain who he may have fooled within the room as his gaze returned to the lovely woman before him. There was a clouded uncertainty upon his face, tempered by the struggling mask of the professional he tried to hide behind. So many conflicting emotions, and here he worried they may finally be addressed-- for better or worse. “Yeah, I could stand a smoke.” The Captain nodded as he raised from his seat, his singlar eye wandered to both of them with a knowing smile before he made his way towards the exit of the room. He stopped before opening the door as he gave a sidelong glance back at the two. “Yeh kids ‘ave fun now, we’ll worry about tha paperwork later.” And with that, he left before either had a chance to retort.
  8. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper couldn’t sleep. This proved another disturbing pattern he seemed to be developing as the war for the very survival of Azeroth itself progressed. With every inaction more people died, the chances at failure exponentially increased—and at times he felt alone in fighting for it. He looked down at the cup he had found within their temporary lodgings; he knew it was a foolish notion. He wasn’t a hero. He knew this. They made it all too clear to him. He bitterly set the glass to his lips once more, allowing the revitalizing fluids from the glass to grace the interior of his form. More and more died as people refused to accept his solution. He was beginning to understand why the late Lord-General had delved into the bottle after the battle which secured his seat in history. A coping mechanism, earned by the blood spilt upon both sides—the cost of being a hero, surely it had earned some perks? Was this is why he was so scorned? Unblooded, Untested. He was not a hero. But the greats were being picked off one by one. Lord Cerryan was likely dead. Lord-General Rayfeather was horribly wounded, he hadn’t gotten any word as to if he would actually be able to continue the good fight. The Shattered Son was missing; his only lead to find him was too preoccupied with her betrothed’s condition. And then there was Dora. Lady Dora Arath’dorei… where did he begin? Here in these late hours, when his companion was finally slumbering, when he could stop the act of being as if he was well—He took another drink of his iced water as he tried to focus his mind as he chided himself. There was too much to worry over, the fate of an entire world was at stake, and yet he tried to nurse the cracks within his heart. He tried to help them here, he was rejected. He followed her words and example, and still one of his more violent political rivals won her heart. …But that was to be expected. She was a Hero. He was not. He was foolish to think he had a chance, was he not? He was shoved aside, something he should well be used to at this point, and yet— His thoughts would find themselves interrupted by the sound of the knocking at his door. Returned to reality, his spiraling depression interrupted, he opened his eyes to find his forehead resting upon the table. Slowly he raised himself from his seat as his brow quirked, curious as to who would bother him in this late hour. His question would be answered before the Magister even got the chance to reach the wooden barrier from the outside world, as it opened anyways. From the other side came his lost hire, his missing mercenary. Gone was the hardened leather chassis he was last seen in. In its place was a long leather coat, accompanied with a wide brim hat concealing even more of his face. He gave a small nod as he closed the door behind him; Vathelan couldn’t help but notice he was still armed as the coat flourished ever so slightly in his movements. “Where have you been?” “Don’ worry ‘bout it.” The Captain said as he looked over the room. “Jus’ been busy.” “That doesn’t answer the question.” The Magister shook his head at the attempt to brush off the question. “Fer yeh? It’ll ‘ave ta do.” He shrugged as he moved passed the young full-blooded elf to take a seat at the table. He eyed the glass with a smirk as he procured a bottle of whiskey from his coat, taking a swig before tossing it at the Magister’s direction. “Yeh look stressed, take a load off.” Vathelan used a blink spell upon the bottle, returning it to the table before the rogue. It spun as it tried to correct itself from the alteration of momentum. The Magister gave a small sigh as he glared from behind his spectacles as he leaned upon the table. “No, it shall not have to. As such, I’ll ask once again. This time as your employer. Where have you been?” At the insistence from the Magister, the Captain smirked. It made Vathelan uneasy, the singular eye proving hard to read if it was a threat or simple amusement. In spite of the thuggish half-elf only have a couple inches on the Magister, it worked way too much in the accused favor. It didn’t help that the rogue dropped his accent. “…Big words from a man with the lack of experience to back it up. But if we wish to speak of employment, you owe me the second half of my pay—on top of a retainer fee if you should wish to hold that over me. So, for now at least, ‘I have been busy’ will have to do, eh?” “You will get your money.” The Magister looked towards the sleeping monk, cursing his lack of foresight. He needed to deescalate the situation, this man before him could likely kill him before the slumbering monk even had knowledge of what happened. “…In fact, assuming Lady Arath’dorei agrees to our my proposal, I will be requiring your continued services.” The Captain grinned as he set his boots upon the table. “I’m listenin’. And how does yer little courtship go with ‘er?” “That’s… not important. She made another choice.” He shakes his head. Before he can continue his train of thought, he was once again interrupted. “Yanno… I do Assin—" “No. That won’t be necessary.” Vathelan was quick to respond, his brow rose. He couldn’t help but wonder just who exactly he had hired at this point. “We just… need to convince her that our aide is undeniable. We have the technology, the research, and resources to make this work. But we Need an army. A single blade in the right place doesn’t work here. Even if bombing the entirety of the Isles repelled the enemy, it would just gather the ire of the rest of the world—still ensuring our extinction as a species.” “Save yer speeches.” The half-elf shrugged. “As long as I git paid, I dun really care. But if yer serious about this…” He procured another item from his coat. A robe iconic of the Scryers, neatly folded and packaged, now presented upon the table. “Go git cleaned up, yeh look like yeh been through the Nether an’ back. Ain’t much a good look fer someone tryin’ ta present ‘imself. Shower, put this on, an’ we’ll go see about gitten this deal here workin’, eh?” Vathelan looked at the robe, then at the Half-elf, dumbfounded. He slowly nodded before excusing himself to the restroom to get cleaned up. No matter what emotional attachments he had, he had a job to do. He had a world to save; he may as well look the part.
  9. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper made his slow march through the wartorn port, his eyes scanned the devastation as he made his way to the Infirmary. The entire area looked as it had been through a hurricane of Shadow and Fel. The winds from the sea helped to illustrate this further. He calculated the estimated property damage against the last numbers he had seen on the market value for resources required-- numbers that had been rising ever higher since this war had began. The gusts buffeted the Magister as he continued his stroll, straining his already damaged and worn attire he had insisted on wearing. To say that the costs accrued from this conflict would be significant was… quite the understatement, potentially insulting even. As he neared the doorstep of the infirmary a particularly strong gale proved rough enough to rip one of the weaker buttons from its place, the robe flapping in the wind as a cloak more than its intended purpose-- revealing the paler grey-blue undershirt that hugged his swimmer’s form. And as he stood at the precipice of the doorway into his destination, he found himself faltering for a moment. Doubts and fear lingered between him and this glimmer of hope. What if Miss Cat was mistaken? What if what he had done wasn’t enough to impress her, making this a waste of everyone’s time while the threat of oblivion loomed over all their heads? His head hung low as he contemplated what he had hoped to achieve. Behind him he could hear Kirital closing the gap. With his eyes closed he took a breath. No, there was still Hope. He had to remind himself, he could help them; that was the very reason he stood here. He only needed to convince them. But that is the problem... “Vathelan?” “I’m fine.” The Magister reopened his eyes, focusing on the door before them as his hand rested on them. No point in lingering, is there? He summoned the courage he required. No, I suppose there isn’t. And he opened the door, inspecting the scene as he entered. Miss Cat sat at one end by her fiance's side, giving a small wave as he walked by, rewarded a small nod in hopes of reassuring her as he continued to scout the area. His first stop being the grey eyed medic. She was certainly elven, though it seemed hard to pin down particularly what kind-- given she had features of both Quel and Kaldorei. But that wasn’t any of his concern; especially not right now. He kept his voice low, both out of respect for those injured she attended to and to hide his weakness as he spoke through cracked and split lips. “Is there anything you need for these people?” “We’re pretty behind on clean linens.” The Medic spoke as she finished changing out the bandages of one of those who had been injured in the battle from the day before. As she looked over him once more she picked up a nearby pitcher and poured a glass of water before handing it to the Magister. “You look parched. Here, take this.” “I’ll see what I can have routed here, either from the Scryers or personally.” He instinctively took what was offered to him. A glass of water? For but a moment he considered protesting that others, such as the patients or the Medic herself, would need it more. But he remembers that just like the Medic, hydration would be something they needed to keep functioning, so that they could help others. So he relents, after taking a drink he speak again. “Thank you. If you have the time, please get me a list-- I’ll pass it on.” As he drank the water, he continued to scan the room. Every detail he could find he tried to pick apart and commit to memory. If the Scryers were to choose the Borrowed Time mercenary company as their champions, they would need to be optimized for the war ahead. But that all quieted down in his head when his eyes finally laid their eyes upon her. Dora Arath’dorei was already out of her cot, instead straddling a chair with her arms slung over the back. Her chin dug into one of her arms as she seemed to skirt the edges of consciousness. A book within her hands threatened to fall loose from her grip and onto the floor. Vath set the glass down as he muttered a polite departing to the Ashen-eyed woman to go to greet the very woman he had sought here, a spring in his step--until he saw who laid in the bed next to her. The psychopathic Orcess that had been allowed to run wild and threatened his life on multiple occasions. Perhaps this is a bad time? He hesitated, his mind devising excuses as to abort this approach. In spite of the water he had consumed, his mouth once more went dry. Get a hold of yourself, Vath. This is the whole reason you came out here… is it not? Attempt to steel himself as he may, when he worked the courage to continue his steps became lighter and far less certain than they once were. When he finally reached her side, despite the mental protests, he choked out two words. “...Lady Arath’dorei?” The chair feet scuffed the floor as she jerked within it. Her disorientation was obvious, it seemed he had taken too long to muster the courage and she had fallen to one of the sides after all. “Oh,” Dora murmured. She hissed at the bite of cold fingertips as she pressed her balms against her lower back in a stretch within her loose linen attire. Afterwards, she regarded Vathelan with remnants of sleep in her eyes, alertness swimming against the current. “Magister-” Her tone more formal, setting the pace of the conversation, “-I’m glad to see you.” “My apologies if I woke you.” The solemn look was distorted by the hint of warmth within the frost mage’s small smile. This would be short lived as his eyes once more caught the image of whom she was visiting. He takes a moment to consider on just how to continue. “...I… was worried you hadn’t made it. I am heartened to see that my subordinate was wrong on this matter. One in my profession is…” he tried to lighten the mood, though he fumbled. “...It is hard to imagine me repeating that phrase.” “I’m fine,” she assures him, likely remembering his mention of not being trained for field work from past conversations. Her eyes try to focus on him, unused to having to look up at the Magister when they talk. They were of similar height. “Minor damage to my legs, so you’ll have to forgive me for staying in my seat.” “I am… relieved to hear you say such.” The tip of his lips surrendered to a small twitch. ‘You’re relieved to hear she was hurt’? How kind of you, Vath. He was stumbling over his words, he knew it. This is why you don’t get emotionally compromised, it makes things messy. He likely seemed to be excessively quiet. Enough. “Shall I take a seat, or…?” His hand hovered over one of the chairs next to the despicable Shokkra Deathrage. “I will try not to take up much of your time.” Dark hair obscured her features before being cascaded to her side. Her back remained hunched for a moment before she unfurled to sit straight within her chair as she mentally shifted gears. Her eyes spotted the figure of Kirital behind the Magister and then a smile floated to the surface as she gestured for him to take a seat beside her. “It’s clearly important to you, Vath. Take however much time you need.” The Magister gave a small nod, his motions were slow and gentle as he sat beside her. He tried to quite his thoughts and emotions as he focused on the task at hand. They may have won here, but this was but the start. “...We have a lot to talk about, Dora. And to try to impress all of it upon you given what surrounds us is, admittedly, unfair.” He took a breath. “So, I am suggesting we do this in stages. The most dire being handed fist. And we shall go from there. Are we in agreement?” The medic from earlier made her way to examine the bandages for the Orcess before them, this was sure to split the attention of the acting Boss of Borrowed Time. Even still as her hands turn in slow revolutions between pinched thumbs and forefingers she responds. “Yes.” “Very well… Good.” He reaffirmed as he reorganized his thoughts, he prioritized them best he could. In spite of his personal needs and desires that nagged at him, he shoved them aside once more in favor of the fate of the world. He tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach that fell to the fear he wouldn’t get another chance-- but he would have to make due. In the grand scheme of things, he was meaningless save what he could provide to the world in this war effort. “I… feel it is prudent that we support you in your reconstruction efforts after this conflict. Were you able to recover Lord-General Rayfeather?” The notebook stilled in her hands, then began once more in the same rhythmic turns. A trench appeared between her brows. “Shan’do… Faelenor is still recovering, but he’s alive.” “That is a relief. I haven’t failed this one entirely then as of yet.” Vathelan considers this approach for another moment. “And for this to work… I am going to need both of you.” It seemed he had her full attention now, though the regard he gave him is peppered with reluctance that nipped at the heels of her curiosity. Her body angled towards him as she shifted in her chair. She slipped her notebook back into her pocket. “Need us both for what, exactly?” “The same reason I came here in the first place.” He paused. He wasn’t being entirely honest with that statement. “That may be slightly misleading.” He corrected. “One of the major reasons I fought in this battle: to save the world.” “You’re talking about the Scryers.” “And Borrowed Time.” He clarified before his eyes cast back upon the ground. He gave a small sigh before he continued. “The war continues, the Legion threat is barely being held back while the world worried over the Emerald Nightmare. To make matters worse, Sanctuary drags their feet in accepting our aide. I have worked tirelessly to try to make this work. Months have gone by, with far too many nights where I collapse out of exhaustion as I keep seeking any logistical advantage to buy us time. But no matter how hard I work, Commander Liene won’t talk to me. So that’s a non-starter. We’re running out of time. Countless are dying needlessly. We have the resources, the technology and the research. But we simply don’t have the numbers.” The healers around them tended to the sick and wounded, the footfalls lead in the direction of their passing. She took in the ambience of her comrades, friends and family in such dire situations. All the while she sat taller within her chair after these moments of silence; which further accentuated the distance between them when she finally spoke. “Magister Frostwhisper. When I sent a response to your letter as acting leader of Borrowed Time, I wrote that now wasn’t the best time. Maybe I should have been a lot more clear.” She pointed in Cobrak’s direction; she didn’t even need look to know where his cot was. “Our current Boss is our priority. My people are my priority. When they’re recovered, then… Then we can talk.” “And if you would hear me out, Lady Arath’dorei,” Magister Frostwhisper gritted his teeth. He would not be stonewalled again, he would not be denied or dismissed. He had secured a retired Scryer tactical agent at great cost to himself for them. He had fought for them. He had faced death for them. He had Made his shot, he refused to throw it away. He was determined to save all of Azeroth, no matter what it cost him. “You would take note that I mentioned offering aide in reconstruction efforts to make sure your people come out on top of this. I can direct this to happen, I can lend support in your time of need. We are not asking you to wade into war Tomorrow. That would be both immoral and tactically unsound.” Before her very eyes, it seemed Vathelan Frostwhisper had underwent a change. He claimed he was not a hero, and yet the lengths the Magister showed he would go for the sake of his beliefs reveal themselves to her. Her mind wandered back to one of their early conversations. In stunned disbelief, she smiled. “I understand.” She bridged the distance between them with her taking hold of his shoulder, scrunching the elegant but tattered fabric of his robe turned cloak. At her touch, the iced demeanor of her friend melted once more. She felt as if she understood him much better now. “Listen, Vath. I’m not saying no to what you’re proposing, but I do have to decline your offer for assistance right now. The company needs to start believing in themselves again. We’ve got too many outsiders here as it is; I’ve had concerns brought to my attention already. It’s bad for morale, to have more strange hands trying to prop us up.” “...What if it came from one of your own?” After a pause he shot back. “I am not looking for favors. I don’t care for any sort of esteem. I gave up on that, in what seems like a lifetime ago.” “Well,” she quirked a corner of her moth, releasing him to fold her arms along the chair back once more. “That’s a bit different, isn’t it? I’m open to whatever you have in--” The conversation was cut short as the Orcess stirred once more. “Vath, look, we’ll take later, just---” the chair clatters to the floor as she clambers out of it, nearly leaping for the cot. “In my office, later,” a hasty assurance, “Just- Shokk…” “I--” As always the Orcess shattered all he worked for. The moment, their planning… gone. He was forced to watch as his first friend in his life, someone he had been willing to go to war for, clung to someone who had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. And like still wanted to. He felt as if his head had leapt from his chest and shattered itself upon the floor. "...Of course." Be barely managed to mumble as he was dismissed, feeling cast aside. He stood, his body felt numb. And he slunk his way out of the infirmary, defeated-- helpless as he heard the women in their reunion behind him.
  10. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper would finally wake, though he gave no signs of doing so. He had no notion as to how much time had passed. But what did it matter anyways? He remained curled up in the bed, unwilling to face the day and results of his failures. Kirital knocked out of habit before letting himself in the room. On the night stand he sets a tray with a biscuit, three sausages, a ham/cheese/pepper omelette, two halves of cantaloupe, and some jam. "So these are the extras from my meal. I dunno exactly what you like and it's really missing grits, but, hey," Kirital looked at the magister expecting some sign of life. When none showed, he shook Vath's shoulder gently, but with a firm grip. "Hey. Food?" The Magister was clearly awake, but doesn't particularly respond. Through his mind he reviewed what he could have done better, how he could have prepared more wisely, and scolded himself constantly for each mistake. If he couldn't even protect his very capable heroes, then what was the point? How could he expect to save the world? He mumbled something before trying to curl himself into a ball even further. "What are you thinking?" Kirital sat on the end of the bed. He couldn't resist the sausage and took one to eat. Taking interest in Vathelan's thoughts, he hoped, could help him out of the metaphorical shell he seemed intent on curling into. "...I'm a fuckup." Vathelan murmured, not one for such language as he kept his back to his companion. He couldn't face anyone today. "All my heroes are now dead, thanks to my negligence." "I wouldn't be so quick to conclusions, Vathelan." Kirital's voice was quiet, similarly unusual coming from him. "We didn't think you could handle visiting the infirmary and you're not a fuck-up." He smiled softly at the Magister of questionable dress; brow creasing up in concern for the man. "Besides, your wall - " He sighed as a knock cut him off. As he stood into a brief stretch and grunt, the bed lifted back into its original height. "It worked. I know it did." He closed the door to the bedroom behind him then opened the front door to whomever knocked. Cat stood behind the door wearing an oversized man's shirt and a pair of old pants. Her hair looked damp from a recent shower, and her fading bruises had taken on a greenish color. On her shoulder was a white kitten. Her downcast expression was heightened by the dim glow of her eyes, who's once vibrant bright blue were so faded that they revealed the naturally dark colored eyes underneath. "...I heard you guys were staying here," she said weakly. "Is Vath okay?" Kirital leaned against the door frame and rests a hand on his hip. The sobriety of his eyes betrayed the jovial smile of his mouth. The battle taxed him, though his worry for Vathelan is evident. "He's recovering. I'm not sure how many large scale battles he's been in but...How's Dora?" "Uhm.. still sleeping, from what I last saw. She's in the infirmary. Her brother was with her." The kitten on her shoulder batted at Cat's pigtail, but was otherwise ignored. "I think she'll be okay," Cat suggested, her voice lower than usual. "They're taking good care of everyone." "Glad to hear it." He rested a hand on the side of Cat's arm. "And hey, I'll tell Vathelan. I don't know if he wants to see anyone just yet." The kitten suddenly saw its chance, and ran up Kirital's arm toward the half-elf's long hair. Cat raised her eyebrows in alarm and reached for her, but it was too late. The white ball of fluff disappeared underneath Kirital's ponytail. "Munchkin!" Kirital froze once the kitten begins exploring the expanse of his neck and upper back. The occasional twitch from the dagger-like claws threatened to unbalance him. "Excitable." He jerks at a nip on his ear. "Fella." He tried to snatch the kitten, succeeding only to be met with a face full of claws. "Gotcha-ahhhh!" All the while he is gentle with the tiny creature. Cat winced at the sight, reaching for Munchkin as swiftly as her grace (which was zero) allowed. Cat stumbled against Kirital instead, prompting Munchkin to leap from his back and make a run for Vathelan. The ungraceful attempt to retrieve the kitten nearly knocked them both over, though one might consider their her body on his somewhat scandalous. Kirital barked after the kitten, oblivious to it. "Hey! Don't wake Vathelan you fuzzball." As Catalinetta and Kirital fumbled in their attempts to catch the little furball, it took the opportunity to further explore. With little bounding paws it delved further into the temporary lodging, it’s snow white fur quickly disappearing from view as it turned the corner into the bedroom where the Magister refused to rise. With tiny claws the creature bounded and climbed the bed until it found itself beside the man and lay upon him. After a few moments, Vathelan’s hand would rise to greet the little creature, giving a gentle scratch behind the ears. Cat followed Kirital inside, unphased by the brief physical contact. The death knight seemed more or less concerned that Munchkin might bother Vathelan, but she seemed to be doing the opposite. She curled up somewhere between the magister's shoulder and chin to bury her head against the crook of his neck, seeking warmth. The Magister rhythmically stroked the tiny kitten’s head, other than that he remained laying bundled under the sheets. Kirital smiled at the disgruntled, blanket hidden Elf. "Cat's got some news for you, Vathelan. I'll be outside. Your food's getting cold." He exited the bedroom and leans against the wall just outside of it. Cat approached Vathelan carefully and sat down next to him on the bed. She put a gentle hand in his shoulder. "..s..sir? Are you.. are you okay?" The man mumbles something in response to Kirital’s announcement. The entirety of the man was hidden from view underneath the sheets. Though that was likely for the best. Before the battle had even started, the man had lost his usual luster. As the woman sat next to him, his motions of affection for the feline had not stopped—though his voice weakly spoke a single word through the cloth. “No.” Cat pet Vathelan as she might have pet the cat. Her voice wasn't as chipper as usual, though she seemed genuinely concerned for the magister. "..I know.. it was a bad day, sir.. but you really did good out there. With the wall. You saved those casters, a-and... only a f-f... f... few c-c... casual... casualties.." The death knight seemed to have a hard time saying the words. "..b-but.. m... most of us s..survived. All of K-kreyen's" The hand paused at the mention of the fate of the Arath’dorei family. For a moment nothing more happened; a hesitation. And then slowly the now greasy ebon hair of the Magister poked out of the bundle. Soon thereafter came his fel-stained eyes behind their glasses to peer up at the death knight beside him. His voice somehow more muffled than before as the sheets rested up against his lips. “…All of them?” Cat looked down toward Vathelan's face. She tried to smile reassuringly, but could only offer a nod. " hmm.. b-but... Ari.. Ari d-din't make it.. a-and.. and K... K... Kreyen lost a l..leg." The dark brows of the Magister knitted as he processed the news. And then he began to stir, much to the known chagrin of the poor fuzzy creature that had been resting on him. He murmured an apology to the kitten before fully sitting up, still wrapped in the sheets. “I… see.” Kirital stood in the doorway now, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. A light hearted smile met Vathelan as he watches and listens. "Morning, blanket slug." Cat reached for Munchkin and held the sleepy kitten to her chest before standing up from the bed. "I was gonna go back to the inf.. infirmary.. some of them are th-there." Moving away from the bed, she finally gave the best smile that she could to Kirital and pat his shoulder. "Take care of him. I'll be around." The Magister moved to stand, the sheet giving way to fully reveal his face. His lips were chapped from dehydration, his lip split and his face covered in grime from the night before. Other than that, he seemed to have gotten off—quite well, considering the reports of the death of one and the loss of limb of another. Both had done him wrong in spite of his goals, but he hadn’t wished them ill will. He started to move towards the door. “I’ll go too. I need to make sure.” The Sheet dragged with him as he made his way towards the door. Kirital remained in the doorway. "You may wanna reconsider your outfit." There is a smirk to him. "Also, I'd like for you to at least...something? You decimated your mana yesterday, which was inspiring granted, but I'm not moving till you down this sausage at least." He held a plate with two sausages and some biscuits in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Hm?” He looked over at the mirror and saw how the sheets clung to him. With an ‘Oh Right.’ He takes off the sheets to reveal tattered robes from the chaos of the day before. “…This… won’t do. Not if I’m going to play the part of dignitary.” He ignored the comment about food. He still wasn't hungry. Kirital, at least, set the glass of water down in front of Vathelan with a pointed look as if to insist on consuming it. Retrieving the food from earlier he idly munched on some of it as he moved to the kitchen. "Whenever you're ready, then." The Magister looked over the robes, taking the glass of water gratefully. His head was starting to pound from from the lack of proper hydration. "Kirital," His voice only able to rise ever so slightly. "The robes or my undershirt? We did fight in a battle... do you think it appropriate I visit looking like this?" Kirital did his best to not giggle or laugh when he suggests going in his wrinkled and ripped attire. Folding his arms he rubbed his chin and thinks. "A friend of my brother and I conjured clothing sometimes. I'd say an undershirt if you don't have anything to go over it. It's kinda cold though, which is fine for..." Kirital got an idea. "Here." He took off his jacket and offered it to Vathelan. "Thankfully your build can fill this out a little, but I think it's more appropriate for you to be the more clothed one. I'm your bodyguard afterall, not a dignitary." He couldn’t keep a grin off his face. "Are you certain that this would not be perceived as... offensive? Not to have proof of my participation of this battle?" His brows furrowed as he takes the jacket. "We fought to defend them. Maybe we can use that as leverage?" "Leverage for what? You're visiting friends and making sure folks are all right. You don't need to prove anything." Kirital ran a hand through his hair to put it behind an ear. "Everyone knows that wall was yours and that it stopped that demon dead in its tracks." He found Vathelan's diplomatic sensibilities cute in this situation and smiled. "Besides. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be doing my job very well." "Kirital..." Vathelan gave a small frown. "Nothing is ever so simple or easy in my line of work. I... forgive me, I am new to this position. And sometimes I hate it. I am sure they have better diplomats. But I was sent." Kirital rubbed the back of his head and sighs a little. "That's just my two cents. I just...recommend checking up on people, you know?" Grappling this line of thinking took a moment. He really didn’t consider his actions and tried to see them from Vathelan's side. "Though I guess in the future maybe? Bringing up our involvement might seem like we're holding it over them and uh, I really don't think now's the time for that?" A slight embarrassment overcame him from speaking his mind about something not his specialty. His hand rested on the back of his neck as he blushed. "I... plan on giving them some time to recover. Lady Arath'dorei knows how to contact me. But it needs to be addressed." He looked back into the mirror with a frown. "I have wasted too much time on Sanctuary, we can't afford to waste more." Kirital felt rather disappointed to hear that. It's not his place to apologize for the guild or anything that's happened, but he could understand some of the frustrations that lingered afterwards. "Yeah there's a time and place for politics, but tact is equally as important. Who knows? Maybe if you're in need of help, helping here could be a way to get it. Favor for a favor, you know?" As he spoke he paced about the room, hands behind his head. The sleeveless shirt over his torso thankfully is well fitted. He regarded Vathelan for a moment in thought. “I’m not looking for Favors.” The Magister spoke as he still debated what sort of appearance he should provide for this encounter. He set the coat over his chest as he tries to picture what that would look like, and its implications. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for people to come to terms with. I want nothing more than to do my part to save the world, to fulfill my purpose in Lord-General Visca’s teachings. The Scryers have and are still developing the technology to give the world a fighting chance. We have been preparing for this day… for a long time. But we’re too few in number to stop the Legion ourselves.” He decides against it as he sets the coat down. They would respect him more if he showed his willingness to fight, he decided. The tattered robes would remain. “So we’re looking for an army. Someone we can trust to take the fight to the Legion with our backing and blessings. Someone we are sure will not become a threat to us or our mission later.” Kirital folded his jacket over an arm without a desire to put it back on. "I mean, it doesn't hurt to be courteous though. You can do both. Besides, it helps to have folks think they owe ya one. Sure helped me leverage my brother to do things for me." The thought brought up a few memories which bring out a laugh from him. Throughout the course of the conversation he had yet to make it feel like an argument. He enjoyed the discussion and, if anything, helped him understand Vathelan more. "I'll ask you more about the Lord-General later, if you'd like?" "He was... a great man." The Magister’s voice got quiet once more, his eyes averting themselves from his reflection. "I cannot express my shame in failing him... or his family." He looks back to his companion. "...Are you ready?" "Yup." Kirital is as he was during the battle. Tank-top, cloth bound waist and forearms, loose cloth pants, and heavy boots. His jacket stays draped over his arm. "I'll be right behind you."
  11. As the walls before them collapsed from a tremendous unseen show of power, Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper felt so exposed as he saw the state of the port. He had heard the sounds of war descend upon them as the struggled played out, but to actually see it... His mouth felt dry as he swallowed a lungful of air. “Now, Vath! Put up the shield!” His dear friend and assistant Miss Cat shouted with her axe at the ready as she bravely charged into the battle. He nodded, trying to summon the courage to move. He was a pacifist, he had no place here in the middle of a warzone. His Half-elf companion at his side, too, was quick to react as a support beam knocked loose from the blast started to fall before them. He couldn’t even keep track at how fast the monk moved, deflecting the metal with a single kick before returning to his side. “Down here!!” Shouted Miss Cat as she created a ghastly rune upon the ground to keep the massive Demon Hunter at bay to buy them time. “...I do believe that is our queue.” Vathelan finally sprang into action as he forced a nervous smile. They’re doing their best, they deserve your own. His mind sharpened from all his training snapped into focus as the air around them began to chill. Drawing power from the spires of frost, those etched with the most powerful runes he knew and wards he could muster, he unleashed their potential with a single snap. Before they could seal away the outside world for as long as he could manage, he shouted to those brave defenders beyond. “I’ll hold it for as long as I can, I won’t let you down!” He felt pangs of regret as he sealed them away, fearing how many casualties he would hear of at the end of the battle as they grew more distant as he put more and more ice between him and the monster beyond this new wall. These were his orders, and he was not about to let these combined forces down. Not when so much was at stake. Determined, he channeled power to keep them steadfast as promised. “Summoners!” The ritual leader called to her group behind the Magister. She had come to some sort of realization. “Reverse the spell! Hurry, follow my lead!” Vathelan couldn’t spare the focus to look behind him to see what had changed her mind, but he didn’t need to in order to understand that they had complied. Magically sensitive as his race was, he could feel it. No longer was the spell meant to drain, but instead a vortex of energy sprouted. And this certainly got the Demon Hunter’s attention. For even beyond the wall his roars could be heard. The first blow landed upon the barrier, the magics within the ice lighting up as they absorbed the brunt of the attack. Lazhio’s strength was impressive, and it worried Vath on how long they could last. Muffled shouting could still be heard through the ice, as well as what sounded like gunfire. Vathelan’s imagination ran rampant of what violence had to be occuring beyond, it made him want to hurl. But such thoughts would last long as another mighty strike landed upon the frostwall. Still the wards held strong. But the assault continued. Three, four down the line with force that rivaled the brunt of siege engine finally began to overwhelm his enchantments-- a couple of reinforcement runes burning out. To keep the wall standing defiantly against its attacker, the Magister was rapidly expending his mana reserves. This isn’t sustainable. He gritted his teeth as he ran through solutions in his mind. Limited resources rapidly depleting… Only ten minutes worth at this rate, if I’m lucky...Frost will not last against another blast of flame… All his lines of thought lead him to once single, unpleasant and horribly dangerous potential answer to this riddle. He hated to put it in practice, but he saw no other option. His eyes shifted towards his companion. “...Kirital… do you… have… a knife?” “No. I’ve got my hands and feet. Why?” “...Not sure… how long… hold…” He spoke through labored breaths. Another blow against the wall drove home the strain he was putting himself under. He didn’t have the time, energy or desire to explain his plan. He doubted that the Half-elf would agree with this plan, even in the middle of a warzone. “...I… ugh… Have… an idea… Need… something… Sharp.” It was a blessing, then, that Kirital did not argue or question the need for such. Instead he searched the area of ruin until he found a splintered piece of metal with a dull enough area to act as a handle. It looked to be shrapnel from one of the destroyed Copters. “Will this work?” It was not ideal, but neither as this plan of his. His free hand gripped at the makeshift implement. This was the price of his poor planning, his priorities being that of scrolls to evacuate in spite of being told they wouldn’t be used rather than managems to keep him going. “...That’ll do…” His jaw clenched as he winced at what he was planning as his fingers wrapped around the dull side. He positioned the sharper edge behind the back of the hand that continued to pump the last of his reserves into the wall. He hated blood, and yet here he was trying to talk himself into employing the darkest and most powerful magics he theortically knew. Time is running out. We need more power. This is the only way. “Vath, what are you thinking?” Had Kirital been tipped off? Or were the ever increasing sounds of battle starting to alarm him instead? “Because, honestly, once that wall goes down; I’m gonna grab you and get the hell back.” This was going to hurt. Pain is a sacrifice worth making to gain these allies. Not just the stabbing, but what was to come afterwards. Others offer up their lives. His fel-green eyes stared at the shard through his glasses. For Dora. His hand trembled. For the Sin’dorei. He prepped for the agony that was to come, taking rapid breaths. For Azeroth! Nearly hyperventilating he drew the shard back, his stomach churned from the dark energies he started to summon. This was it! He would become the hero they needed! He steadied his nerves enough as he imagined the transmutation of the ice in front of him into something greater as he forced a confident smile for his companion. “I’m sav--” This surge of courage was for naught as before he could even finish his sentence, the wall of ice exploded into little more than moisture and steam as the horrifying figure of the Lazhio burst through wreathed in flame. The force wrested the shard from Vathelan’s grip as he tried his hardest to simply remain standing. Before the Demonic entity could get his hands on the Magister, Kirital sprung into action as he swooped his charge within his arms and sprung out of harm’s reach. “Light…” Those that had been sealed outside to contend with this Demon Hunter were in quick pursuit. He was smaller than he had been when Vath last saw him, were they actually exhausting him? It also seemed that those beyond the frostwall had all survived so far. This would normally have heartened him, but despair was starting to take hold. “...Can we work with what’s here for what you wanted to do?” Kirital’s voice pulled him back to reality. The Magister looked up at the monk, the question slowly sinking in as he remained within the Half-elf’s arms. Vathelan shook his head as he scolded himself. “...I… no… i-it’s too late, he got through my barrier. My one duty. Even with-- Even with my research, I fear I wouldn’t be able to get it back up in time to make a difference.” He watched as these men and women, some he knew-- like his dear friend Miss Cat, or the stonewalling Commander Laine of Sanctuary-- others he didn’t, they all continued to fight with all their might. He didn’t deserve to be counted within their number. If they died here, it was his fault. “It was the last line of defense, I have failed them.” “Vathelan. Focus on what you can do. Right now.” Kirital spoke in a kind but urgent tone. He had refused to give up on him. Why? “Observe. Use your magic. Support your allies. Think, Vath. You’re good at that.” Miss Cat struck true into the Demon Hunter’s flesh, forcing him to give a pained howl as his bones began to shatter. The infection of the move started to claim his corrupted blood. They were still fighting. A tauren struck with divine light that formed spikes that erupted upon Lazhio’s skin. Why? Couldn’t they see how hopeless this was? Commander Laine barreled her shield into him, forcing him backwards where they could continue to hold him back for as long they needed. Was this the true face of heroism? “All casters… Push everything you have left into the stone!” The leader of the Ritual Team commanded. Vath’s eyes looked back at them for a moment, noting how the runic array of stones deteriorated before collapsing entirely as it formed a dark singularity in the midst of the pentagram. “What were you planning on doing? Tell me and I’ll help.” Kirital still tried to coax action out of the Magister. From behind Lazhio, as he reached out his his arm trying to draw magic from the singularity, the Gustblade and a woman that looked similar enough to be a relative fired into him. Vath felt so small in comparison to these brave soldiers. Miss Cat continued to hack at the monster’s spine, blood spraying everywhere upon her as her axe continued to feed. The raging Orcess that was allowed to torment him within Sanctuary’s halls let out a piercing scream as she severed his wing from his shoulder. “Something dangerous.” The blood was already starting to make the pacifist of a Magister, forcing him to avert his eyes lest he disgrace himself further than he already had. His exhaustion was obvious as he made eye contact with the monk as he confessed. “I’m… spent. There is another resource I could tap into. But… it’s a bit more… precious. And I don’t think I can cast fast enough to make the sacrifice worthwhile.” “All right.” Kirital clicked his tongue as he looked around. Thankfully not pushing for info as to what exactly the Magister meant. “That thing isn’t going down easy. Do you know their plan here? How can we help with that?” “Everyone! Get away from him!” The Tauren shouted as he caught on as to what the ritual was doing. “It… seems the plan has changed.” Vathelan shook his head. The dehydration was kicking in, the first clue being how his lips had grown dry and chapped. He rolled out of the monk’s arms and staggered in an attempt to stand. He could feel the magics of the ritual reaching a climax. “The battle… it’s drawing to a close. Whatever is going to happen next, it’s going to be soon.” Each of the five stones consumed by this ritual claimed an extremity of Lazhio’s form. Slowly it ripped him apart, unravelling him bit by bit as his ethereal soul was pulled into each of them. “F...Fools… I… was… y-our… sal...vation…” He howled in fury as he was forced a slow and terrible death, his voice a baleful cry that filled the entire base for several moments as those who remained alive from his siege upon Dragonroost Port witnessed his final moments until he was at long last silent. He had been slain, the battle was over. And they had won. Now they would have to pick up the pieces.
  12. At the designated time, Kirital comes out of his mediation and looks over to the bed, checking on Vathelan. It's takes a minute for his senses to catch up, but the brief rest leaves his mind sharper than ever. He hopes for the same with Vathelan. The Magister’s eyes snapped open. He took a deep breath as he took account on his location. Why was he in the bed? He murmured something about no time as he headed back towards the table of melting spires. "Hey, feel better?" Kirital gets to his feet with a hop to his step as he rests a hand between his shoulder blades. "I moved you to the bed, you've been out for about an hour and a half." "I've lost an hour and a half of work then." He starts creating another orb of water. "We're under siege tomorrow. We need to be prepared." Kirital sets out to make a fresh batch of tea. Being in the other room he raises his voice a little to be heard clearly. "You were rather fatigued. Unless there's a spell to keep you sharp and focused." He opts to let Vathelan's tea steep longer for added strength. Working through the night is the likeliest of outcomes and being Vathelan's assistant means he needs to keep the magister productive. “I can rest when I—” Vathelan Frostwhisper paused at the Half-elf’s words. A spell that would make him sharper, more focused. “…Actually…” He froze the orb and left it on the table as he marched towards his satchel. Please let me have those notes on me…. Kirital gets a bad feeling in his gut. While the tea steeps he moves to the make-shift study to see what grabbed Vathelan's attention. Seeing the man rummage through the backpack, Kirital asks, "Struck by an idea? Anything I can help you find?" “As I have stated, before I was assigned to investigate Lord Cerryan and Sanctuary, I was part of our Research and Development Department.” The Magister starts rummaging through his satchel. “I never did fully give up my love for such. Anyways, when I still had some off time—where we weren’t being invaded by the threat of the Legion, I was trying to develop something on my off time in order to aid other projects.” He shifted away his Glass Scroll in favor of a notebook. “I was researching something… impressive, to say the least. And I may be able to alter it to fit our current needs.” Kirital laughs at Vathelan's display of enthusiasm. It's a quality he likes about the man. "Oh? Tell me about it while I go grab our drinks." Taking the old mugs, Kirital returns to the kitchen. The guestroom is open with only a few doors separating rooms. “I’m afraid I cannot discuss the details in too much length. Needless to say, however, that as a group dedicated to the Defense and Preservation of the Sin’dorei—a dying race—we have multiple projects in the works at any given time. Some are quality of life in order to improve the lives of our people, others are innovations in hopes that we can continue to have a cutting edge against others and to open pathways to new ideas for a brighter tomorrow. Others are… well, are designed with a much more Defensive notion in mind.” He grabs the notebook and starts heading back to the table. “We have created a wondrous creation that could revolutionize the Golem technology; I was trying to find a way to do so in a more cost effective way in order to ensure it was viable so that it could be utilized in future endeavors.” The Magister opened the notebook as if searching for something. “…I haven’t perfected the spell as of yet, however. There are always… complications.” "Oh. I thought you meant a spell for keeping yourself awake and sharp." He brings Vathelan a strong tea while sipping his own. "At any rate, let me know what I can do to help out? I'll be doing my own preparations in the meantime." “I am saying that I can use this spell, if I can find it, and augment it to enhance my mental capacities beyond my usual standard. I intended to work out the kinks and submit this spell so that it could be used to make smarter equipment.” He paused at a page before going back to his satchel, pulling out specialized paper, a mechanical quill and a few vials of ink. “It could save lives, revolutionize well… Everything. If it works, I could bolster both my magical abilities and thought processes.” He finally takes the mug and starts to drink from it. Kirital removes his tunic and tosses a flat pillow onto the floor. Moving some of the furniture to open the space, he stands in the center if it. "What happens when the spell wears off, though?" He begins to go through various poses and stretches, occupying the majority of their conversation. “Ideally?” The Magister looks over his notes, his tone obviously one of speculation. “One of two scenarios: The spell proves to have a lasting effect and I retain some partial benefits to it thanks to how it has opened new lines of thought; OR the spell simply wears off and we simply reap the benefits of that short timeframe it works. We can save Dora, we can save Borrowed Time, and then we can save the world.” Kirital is doing something upside-down now with his arms supporting most of his weight. "So there's no...lack of energy or feedback? Would someone so accelerated need food to compensate?" A thought comes to him. "Or does," he grunts as only one arm supports him now, "The magic carry the load?" “I’ve not tried it on anything organic before.” He admits as he reviews the notes. His jaw sets as he debates whether he should go into details on the experiments he Had performed. Seeing the hesitance, Kirital whirls on a palm and lands on a foot, keeping atop the flat pillow. The angle shifts his center of gravity forward, putting strain on his legs and lower back. He holds the taxing position. "Well, from what I do know, you don't get things for free." A quick huff of a laugh escapes his steady breathing. "This research of yours, is it personal or under the Scryers?" “Both… I guess?” He thinks on how to explain it. “It’s a personal project of mine, in hopes that I could submit it when I was sure it was safe and worthy of use in hopes that it could be used to save lives. It started from the inspiration I gathered from arguably one of our most impressive creations—though it was so costly, we cannot make them on any sort of massive scale as it is. And it’s not as… efficient as it could be. So I started… This. The biggest problem I have stumbled upon is it both has to ramp up, and then it—um—decays over time, I think it’s a quirk in the amount of mana required to make and sustain something that can actually think. As the power source diminishes… well, the spell begins to fail. In unpredictable ways.” "Does it need t'always be on?" The honest question comes with a slight drawl to his voice. It doesn't sound out of place, but hasn't come from him before. "When I'm training, I take frequent breaks to recharge. Helps performance." That last word had a devious grin to accentuate it. He stops his stretching and light exercise to bind his hair back and grab some water. "Like now. One minute and I'm going to get back to it." “I am afraid I am not entirely sure I understand the question.” Vathelan wiped away the moisture from the melting ice as best as he could with his sleeve, also pushing the remaining chunks and shards onto the ground. Normally he would be more concerned with the cleanliness in the area—but it being clean wouldn’t matter soon, especially if they were dead or failed their mission here. “I should be able to function without the effects, it putting me into a vegetative state is… unlikely, if that is what you are asking? If you are asking if I can suspend the spell while it is active; then the answer is no. Once active it will stay so—and dispelling it and recasting it is not only inefficient as the spell… grows in power as the mind continues to expand, it adds its own problems.” "Seems it's on a larger scale that I thought." Kirital drinks a few more sips of water. "I was thinking something more mild, like how you feel during exercise or when you're riding a high." The topic has gone out of his expertise, but, he can find some ways to relate. "But given these risks, I don't feel it's worth it unless you can dumb it down a little?" “Dumbing it down would defeat the purpose.” The Magister shook his head. “With this increasing edge, I could make everything click into place. I could craft the guardian, I could… remove my inhibitions for the violence we are going to require today. I could… no longer be helpless. I could save those we are here for. We could win this, and then we could prepare against the greater threat.” He takes a sigh as he looks over the notes. “…I just need to be brave enough to take these risks…” "Or." Kirital pauses his stretch and resumes a normal posture. "You can be really brave and not take the easy way out.I don't believe in an easy fix. Nothing is easy, especially this." He drinks a bit more water. A towel slings over his shoulder as he watches the man sift through his notes."If the original spell is meant for an inanimate object, and not something alive, maybe a weaker version is best? A boost is a boost. Why crank it past eleven when a notch at three or four would do?" “This has been years of research, I would Hardly call it an easy fix or way out.” His voice got terse in defense. His hands grasped at the specialized parchment paper. “With the world on the brink of total annihilation, we have to worry about what Works. Not philosophical debates. Idealistic minds may very well be the death of us, we cannot afford inaction.” He takes another drink of his tea before giving a sigh, his voice softening again. “…But, perhaps I should place more trust in our friend and her company. A radical experiment may not be required, and may cost us more in the long run… for now.” Kirital sighs, more in relief. "That's what I was getting at. I want you in top condition for the upcoming battle since you're going to participate and saw this as... an unnecessary risk, considering all the good you've done so far." A smile returns to him as does a light hearted tone. "I'm your assistant slash bodyguard, afterall." Approaching Vathelan, he extends his hand. "And friend above that." The Magister took the Half-elf’s hand, though did not return the smile. Instead there was a certain determination beyond his glasses. “…This is only the beginning, Kirital.” "Do what you need to do on the battlefield, Vathelan. I'll support you." His grip tightens as he keeps his nerves from it. Bringing attention to tomorrow's battle refreshes his energy and brings a wide grin to him. "Now, while you make your preparations, I'll be doing mine." Stepping away, Kirital resumes his stretching, though an Amery is felt within the room. At the center of it, Kirital focuses and draws it in. The aura subsides as he goes through his martial motions.
  13. Within the guestroom that Magister Frostwhisper and his half-elf entourage had been assigned to until the conflict was resolved, Vathlean was hard at work at the table he turned into a makeshift desk for his preparations. Preparations for war, from a pacifist. The irony and developing pattern were not lost on him. First he intervened in the conflict with Karthok, which wasn’t his fight. Now he practically begged to be here in the middle of a warzone in order to protect someone close to him. But he was not built for this. His nerves were getting to him. Anyone who saw him or his workstation would be able to see it. Dark rings started to form under his eyes, his robes had lost the pristine creases that usually were ever-present—forcing the entire ensemble to look flat, his hair was disheveled. Surrounding him were disfigured spires and partial spheres of ice. In between his hands a basketball sized orb of water whirled as it floated in the air, suspended between his hands. “Come on…” He growled in exhausted frustration as he gritted his teeth, his eyes locked upon the ball. The orb wobbled. Vathelan’s eyes remained focused on it. The perfection of the shape began to wane. The Magister’s thumbs pressed into the air like one would clay. The Orb started to indent. A small smile crept upon the exhausted man’s face. And then frost began to form within his misshaped globe. “…No… Don’t do—” The Orb turned into solid ice. “…That.” His teeth grinded against each other. He felt the frustration rise in him once again, boiling to an anger as he threw the globe back upon the ground. “NOT AGAIN!” He balled up his fists and set his forehead to the table giving an aggravated sigh. A soft knock comes from the door frame. Kirital stands within it. He lacks his jacket and instead wears a sleeveless shirt and slack pants bound at the waist with cloth. He is barefoot and his knuckles look raw. Held in a large hand are two mugs, a pleasant scent coming from both of tea. A disarming smile softens the edges of his face. He tries to not interfere with Vathelan's concentration knowing how devoted he is to helping Dora. The magisters frustration, however, is louder and more concerning as of late. Kirital fears the man is slipping and is certain he needs to relax. The tea, he feels, should act as an icebreaker. "Please tell me you've slept?" Kirital's even baritone voice dips to concern as he approaches one side of the desk. Vathelan slowly straightened his posture once more, his weary eyes looking back to his friend as he released his breath in speech, “…Yesterday. We’re too short on time, too much riding on the outcome.” Kirital pulls up a chair; its back facing Vathelan. Straddling it, he folds his arms atop the back and hunches forward a little to rest his chin in an upraised palm. His stubble is unkempt and just on the verge of becoming a fiery beard to match his hair. "So what have you managed to do since yesterday?" He looks to Vathelan's work. Its sprawling across the table and is disheveled enough to deepen Kirital's concern. "The Scrolls are done." He doesn't elaborate. This doesn't explain the ice all around him either. "We just need to get her to agree to use one if things get too out of hand." Kirital races out to grip Vathelan's shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. "Preparations are going well then. What is it you're working on now?" Keeping the conversation light while focusing on his task at hand might help refocus the man and relax him. His grip is strong and warm. Kneading his fingers through Vathelan's tired shoulder works out its tension. "With the ice?" "Protection." Vathelan sounds weary. "Dor--Lady Arath'dorei can't fall. We need her alive." He tries to look at this objectively and professionally. Emotions made people sloppy. Scooting closer, Kirital sees full well how exhausted Vathelan is. "And what are you stuck on?" He asks. The question is innocent, as is the second hand moving to Vathelan's other shoulder to mimic the motions of the other. Nearby, on a spot left free of tomes and papers and ink, their tea cools. The soothing mint scent replaces the dry, musty parchment and adds a sense of welcome to this nook of the guest room. "Making a guardian." Vathelan was usually a man of a certain flourish in the way he spoke, kept it short in his frustration as he tried to look away from his failures in digest. The problem is the reminder was all around him. Kirital notes the hateful glances toward the ice and magic around them. He sighs and stands, positioning behind Vathelan. "Would you say no to a break? Thirty minutes is enough for a reset, but, no one will blame you for taking a nap." Continuing to massage the man's shoulders, Kirital applies more pressure. Occasionally he finds a knot in Vathelan's upper back and, when pressed, would pinch sharply at first. As the maneuver continues, the pinch fades to a warm burn, a good burn, one of soothing and rest. "How many days until the siege?" Kirital's voice remains calm, breathing rhythmic and slow. Even the tempo to his speech is soft to the senses. It's as if these subtleties coerce Vathelan into a relaxed state without directly asking him to do so. The topic of conversation serves to distract while everything else, hopefully, helps slip him into slumber. Kirital glances to the clock and times his actions. There is a delicacy to this and, if unsuccessful, has a chance to backfire. Should Vathelan slump or snooze, he'll need to keep track of the time otherwise the magister would be rather groggy after being woken up. “Can’t nap. Too much to do…” He tries to protest, a yawn escapes in spite of himself. “…We have to protect her, Kirital. If… Dora…” He loses his focus, the world drifts away for a moment. “…Dora… needs to live…” Another lull, stronger than the first. “…She’s the reason we’re here… If she dies, we lose everything…” His body starts to slump over on the table. With his last breaths of consciousness he makes one more protest. “…She’s our… in… we need… to… save….” Kirital smiles when Vathelan slips off into sleep. Glancing at the clock, he wonders how long he should let this nap be. Gently, he frees him from the chair to carry him in his arms. He doesn't tuck him into the bed, instead laying Vathelan atop the comforter and making sure no bumps or wrinkles disturb the rest. Within a nearby chair he sits and relaxes. Ninety minutes for this one, he concludes.
  14. The knock threatens to teeter the bulk of her thoughts off their railing. She goes through the rigmarole of standing for a new guest, calling out a clear "Enter!" Kirital slips in. He figured they were in discussion, so his body language reflects a quiet respectfulness. Offering Dora a quick smile, he slips to the wall just beside the door; hands moving behind his lower back. Like before he wears a dense cloth jacket lined with a short fur for cold, slack pants bound with cloth at his waist and ankles, and heavy boots layered with dense disks of metal. Oh right...well, shoot, she's going to have to remember this guy's name eventually. The bodyguard that shadows Vathelan for reasons that Dora doesn't have knowledge about...and she's starting to worry that she really ought to have looked into that before hand. Too late now. She gives the male a nod of acknowledgement and a smile of similar briefness before she sits back down again, her posture changed into a rigidity that makes her back ache. "Weeell," she drawls, drumming a beat, "think of him like a felhunter. Any spellcasters are fair game. According to old mission logs on him, he can only possess bodies that are heavily tainted by fel...the body he's using now...I really don't know how he managed to reconstruct it, but it's a close approximation of his original if the testaments from retired Rough Raiders are anything to go by." The Magister looked back at his bodyguard with a small nod before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “I see. And we are assuming he will strike here? What does he have to gain from such? Is it revenge? All this preparation for one Demon Hunter…” "Not just any demon hunter...if it was that simple, well," she shrugs. "I mentioned before that he has a history of working with Scryers who defected to his cause. Artifacts in exchange for power." A twist of a frown, a shift of her shoulder blades like a predator cat out in the Barrens that makes the gilded piping of her military-style jacket shimmer. "He knows how to network and build a following. He's got two other known enemies on his side with incredible shadow powers. Like," she barks a short laugh, "like, they both outclass my mom in Void control and she's no slouch. Besides that...we have a plan. He wants these stones we have, that the Rough Raiders used to create a pocket dimension where they trapped him initially." She pauses, the windows of her stare darkening like the shadow of a bird across a dusty plain, there and gone. "So we want to lure him close enough to activate the stones again. We won't have the element of surprise on our side, but we have strategies for dealing with his army and his techniques. When we start the ritual, he'll sense it and he won't be able to resist." “So, you are essentially trying to lure him into a trap.” The Magister looked over the report. Defecting Scryers. He could use this to gain Borrowed Time more favor from his organization after the battle was won. “You’re sending my Agent to lead your air force. And I am sure that you will brief him further later. What of your other forces? Are you well supplied, are you in need of anything I can acquire for you?” From the conversation, Kirital attempts to catch up. It seems they're planning to counter a foe of strength...with powerful allies...and who they plan to trap instead of defeat. A look of concern turns toward Vath; brow turning outward until he steels himself against his wandering mind. Vathelan is no combatant. Besides that's what Kirital is for. Through Dora's explanation, he moves his focus onto her and listens. She seems tense, though confident. It brings a subtle smirk of interest to his stubbly face. "We've got help pouring in on all fronts!" There's a little bit of that cheer in Dora that bears the marks of authentic if a bit worn down. It's too difficult for her to stay down for very long, goes against what comes naturally to her so she doesn't fight the sudden tide of good humor. "Honestly, it's been kind of a windfall of support from unexpected places, all of them vetted. We've got ships in the dock, we've got people diggin trenches, we've got out weapons specialist working on landmines, the tanks. Fel!" she grins, eyes going crescent with her mirth, "I've got my cousin up in the zeppelin tower working on a damn canon that oughta put a sizable dent in anything Lazhio tries to bring to the table." In her excitement, she brandishes a copy of the map that details their plans, with red markings of adjustments in the margins. She points to the square marking the command center, hovering over the map while her long ebon hair slips off her shoulders, messy and wild. "We have shamans who can detect underground tremors in case of tunneling. We have ballistas set up along the eastern and southern facing walls," her finger drags a line down, "and that's not accounting for the mines placed here, or the oil that will be set aflame by our rangers." Kirital gets to his tip toes and peers to the map from the wall. It seems rather complex and there are a lot of lines and words. Instead he returns to ogling Vathelan's back view with a subtle once over. If Vathelan resolves to be here for this intense siege, he'll kick the shit out of whatever tries to attack him. The hunter in Dora reacts to the movement in her peripheral; she notices the half-elf in his less than discreet attempt at satiating his curiosity. She'd be doing the exact same thing in his position. She shoots off a look towards him, that same enthusiastic and artless grin tossed in his direction like a bomb. She's pure energy in her element, explosive like the weapons she enjoys tinkering on in her spare time. It's like sharing a secret, a little understanding between him and her, before she returns her attention to the map. Kirital grins. He had a feeling Dora was into him. That look confirms it to him. He makes a mental note to ask her to go clubbing in the Dalaran nightlife and maybe bring Vathelan along. It'll be a celebration. Resting against the wall, he lets himself daydream a moment. “Your tactician seems to have done an adequate enough job devising a solid plan of defense, save potentially warding the area to ensure that the enemy cannot simply teleport within.” Despite his studious tone, her usual liveliness is infectious. He cannot help but smile at how her excitement bubbles to the surface. “I am willing to lend my aid there if you so wish, and while I am not normally a combatant—I can provide support in terms of altering the flow of battle in our favor, or I can lend my prowess in keeping up the barrier if you would have me at either station. Unless you have something else in mind?” Vathelan's offer sobers Kirital and his wandering mind. He approaches the table and stands behind Vathelan with crossed arms and a raised brow at the man. "It's not outlined here," she confides, "but we do have plans for an arcane barrier. Those magic users who can use light will be fighting against what are basically sha-puppets..." the movement gives her pause. Vathelan stands in the shadow of what Dora realizes is a giant of a half-elf. He might actually be the same size as Nokh, managing to loom in their space and her just shy of meeting his eyes. He might have had an inch on her, she'd have to guess. She gives his size a notice, a mental 'huh' before she continues on. "I can put you on the team with the'd be closest to the inner circle where we're protecting the stones, but arguably that would be the safest place in the base." “If you think my talents would be best suited there, then so be it.” He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t verbalize them. He understood the value of such a position tactically, and if she sought to protect him… he would have to take that as a good sign. “Where will you be?” "Erm," she verbalizes, internally wincing while she keeps her eyes down, pinned to the map. "I'll be with the rest of the ranged fighters and fall back after they breach the wall." "Where Vathelan goes, I'll be there as well." Kirital adds. Looking over Dora, he smiles, demeanor turning friendly and a little scrutinizing. It's almost as if he sizes her up in the least offensive way. "Should I get with you to see where I fit in? Vathelan is my priority, but that doesn't mean I can't help defend others nearby." The Magister’s lips thin as the briefing declared her positioning. His frosty gaze glared within the woman’s scalp. He looked about to protest at any moment. His brows knitting at his bodyguard’s declaration next. He obviously wasn’t pleased, and yet he said nothing at current. What he sees is what he gets, that much is obvious just looking at her. If imagined lined up against other elven women considered typical in stature and grace, they'd probably try to gently direct her out and maybe hang up her femininity card as she left. She had the height that made her tower over most of her gender and race, and a thicker build beneath the jacket and trousers. Feminine demure was traded for the sort of free-spirited will of a younger mind who really just cared about what was practical. She was freshly scrubbed, at least, but bare-faced and curious. She considered the man and his question, rubbing thoughtfully at her chin. "Honestly," she starts, head canted, "I'd just like to know why Vathelan has a bodyguard in the first place. I don't wanna compromise your job, but I am wondering." Kirital's grin turns toothy. He's clearly proud of the position. "Sure yeah! We can go over that and Vathelan's body over drinks." He soon catches what he said and attempts to recover despite a small blush. "Ah, why I'm assigned to be his body guard, that is." “It’s a bit comple—” The Magister had finally spoken up, his frigid concern had not yet thawed in this distraction. And then he heard that slip up and froze in place, his eyes slowly looking back up at the half-elf, before looking back at the woman before him. The correction did nothing to stop his flustering however, as a red hue slowly began to emanate upon the man in glasses. There is a titan of a male blushing in front of her. What he'd said had caught her notice, but she wasn't going to give it much thought; at least until Vathelan cut himself off and his discomfort radiated off of him in a deep blush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. She runs the words in her head again, niggling loose the meaning, and hates that she feels her own face go hot when she isn't even sure why they are blushing (though she's got ideas, but they're distracting from the point!). Her hands splay flat across her desk, with her stare roving from Kirital to Vathelan. "I'd- uh. Rather just hear it now." "I'm a uh," Kirital clears his throat and slides a step away from Vathelan, similarly drifting his gaze to the far wall. "A member of Sanctuary charged with stopping threats to Vathelan's person." He shrugs. "Simple as that, really." He gives a somewhat desperate look to Vathelan to extrapolate, and hides it behind a smile. "Who?" Dora is forced to ask, concerned, her focus on Vathelan. “There have been… incidents, which were left unchecked. Some of the leadership thought this acceptable; others did not and understood the risk it posed to my delicate work in negotiations.” "That's not the answer to my question," Dora frowns. "You know her quite well, and I loathe the thought of being a wedge between your friendship." Kirital nods during Vathelan's explanation. Clearly the Magister is better at describing delicate situations. Once the conversation continues he stops. "I dunno. Haven't had any incidents, really." He arcs a brow toward Vathelan. Really he is oblivious to what harm merited Baern's order to bodyguard the mage. The truth hits her with enough force to make her groan. She scrubs at her face, her reluctant little smile peeking from behind the gaps of her fingers. "Well," she sighs, laughter hiding in her eyes as she glances between them both, "yeah, I can see why you need a bodyguard. That's an entire set of problems I'd like to address later, when we're not dealing with a magic-sucking maniac." "Shall we add it to the list of things we need to discuss after this scenario?" "Yeah I can cover the first round but you're on your own after that." Kirital teased, or at least that was how Vathelan took it. Her stomach freefalls, the gently amused curve of her lips wiped clean. There's too much in the unspoken to pick apart. When she tries to catch murmurs of a conversation in the dark, she hears her own voice but not his. Apologies and backpedaling. Clarification; a small perk that laid at the end of the unknown. "Sure," she offers, straightening. The buttons of her coat gleam in the light. “I didn’t mean…” The Magister gave a small sigh, he seems slightly flustered. “We have much to discuss when this is over. I have hope that the majority of it will prove quite pleasant.” He manages to calm his fussing to give her a small smile. “…All we need do is survive.” Dora probably does this to spite herself. It's her playing cards against her brother all over again, revealing her hand just by breathing or something. She lacks the ability to hide, to disguise. She feels like the air blares loud with the undercurrent of their conversation. Vathelan was going to read it just like Eiverlyn could read a person's history just by analyzing their clothes. Unable to stop herself, her stare flickers to Kirital. Was it written all over her face, the uncertainty? She takes up the map, a safe port in a storm. "We've got good odds. Surviving, I mean." “Indeed.” The Magister gives a small nod, it was uncertain if he could see through her weak façade or not. “Thank you for your time, Lady Arath’dorei.” He moves to stand up from his chair. His eyes looked over his dear first friend. “We’ll get through this. Together. And… perhaps we can have our discussions over dinner?” "I'm starving." Kirital laughs. Overall he seems to not own a care in the world, or at least doesn't let such bother him. There is a disarming quality that hangs about him as loosely as his attire. "So I'm game for anything." He does take a few steps back as his input ends. Just like that, the bubble of tension breaks. Unconsciously, she aims a half grin Kirital's way. "Well, you're free to have dinner in the mess hall if you want. We've got a pretty decent chef...and yeah," she meets Vathelan's eyes, easy confidence returned to her. "Dinner after the battle is fine too." Vathelan held the door open for the bodyguard, his eyes glancing back at his first and dear friend. The smile started warm, encouraging as she regained her confidence. “Thank you, Lady Arath’dorei.” The gaze lingered for a moment, the smile faded before contact was completely broken. He shut the door behind him and his companion without a word further.
  15. In his own preparations for the battle to come, Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper had kept finding himself at a loss any time the Captain asked for an explanation of the details of the job not listed in the contract—when he wasn’t leaving at the bar to get drunk on the Magister’s silver, of course. Not liking having a decidedly lacking understanding of the situation, he had decided it prudent to return to the office. Each step had him questioning his preparations. Should he bring flowers? Too forward. This was work, after all. And Dora had too much on her plate as it was—the whole reason he decided against actually getting an answer or saying the words. His hands hovered at the door of the office. He took a deep breath, only exhaling as he finally announced his presence. How many more adjustments did this plan need? How many more hands volunteered for the sake of a fight that counted on so many factors outside of their control? Earlier, opportunities ran abundant out of the mouths of those in attendance at the meetings. Now that they put those plans into action, she kept running into new logistic problems. Most tedious part; the part she liked dealing with the least. She skimmed the end of her quill across her mouth, the feathery end chewed while she came up with what she was going to do for Cat in thanks for all of her assistance. Shokkra too. Cat fought for Kreyen, Shokkra for her best friend. Julilee for her support in everything, reliable even at all-time lows. Though they all bent their heads to their tasks for different reasons, they all bore the same banner and it made Dora speculate on just how much Sanctuary aided them now without question. Not because they were Sanctuary and allies...or maybe the term 'ally' meant more than it ever had before.... With the startle from the knock, she ends up with the feather end of the quill tip up one nostril. She sets it aside, brings her wrist to her nose to stop her sneeze, and beckons them with a muffled "Come in!" After hearing her invitation, the young Magister gently opened the door and saw himself in with a warm smile. “Good evening, Lady Arath’dorei. How does the planning fare?” She peers past a sea of parchment, catches sight of Vathelan. The sincere if tired half-smile reaches her eyes, just partially hidden under a heavy black fringe that always seemed to need cutting. She stands, throws a hand in the direction of one of the chairs in front of the desk. "It's a little fiddly," she admits, "but promising at least." “I could help, if you would allow it?” He seems slightly better rested than the woman before him. Though the robe he was in was less pristine than she had ever seen, save perhaps the end of their little hunting trip almost a year ago. “My specialties tend to be catching and managing the little details so that heroes such are yourself can worry about the bigger picture. You slay the dragon, I figure out how to make sure your men don’t go hungry during the venture.” "You're restless," she decides, a dimple deepening as her smile hitches up further. If Dora Arath'dorei carried the confidence to claim any sort of expertise in anything at all, restlessness ranked at the top of the list. She knew the signs. “I am worried.” He corrects, his eyes looking pointedly in direction and at all the paperwork. He sat down before her, gently moving to try to smooth out the wrinkles in his uniform as he did so. And then he eased his demeanor, back to a more familiar than the professional as he teased. “Do not tell me you were so quick to forget our conversation?” Their last conversation; it's like staring into a dense fog in her own head where glimpses reveal themselves of their own accord, never to her satisfaction or to complete the picture. Vague notions, an awful lot of confusion. Her bottom lip attempts to roll back for her teeth to chew, but she manages to refrain. "You can be worried and restless," Dora counters, sitting when he does. "I learned that those two tend to go hand in hand." She looks like she might tip out of her chair, perched on the very edge, but her feet are solidly beneath her. “I suppose it is difficult to get adequate rest when there is a threat of certain doom, or when your employee deems to claim the bed within the guestroom as his own.” The playful smirk continued to grow for a moment before it settled back down into his professional side threatened to overcome him once more. “Lady Arath’dorei… I know the eagerness to spill oneself into their work, the fear that someone else may get it wrong. But I am here. For you. Please do not hesitate to utilize my talents.” "I- yeah, I know that Vath." Zakael can only do so much between his own exhaustion and taking care of his daughter. Amalyn...Dora passes by the infirmary to get updates on her status. At least Amalyn's recovering, but she won't set the burden of more paperwork on the woman. Or maybe Amalyn needs the work to feel included in the fight, to save her husband (or vengeance, but Dora moves right along past that possibility). "If I gave you anything, it would be a lot of grunt work. Giving the numbers another check, reporting directly to me." A ruffle of her hair, a mild furrow of her brows. Her smile carries a note of sardonic, like it's an uncomfortable sentiment that can't stand to land on her expression for any longer than an eye blink. "We've got...a lot of Sanctuary here filling a lotta roles. As much help as they provide, there's also been tension because of it. It's hard to keep up morale when it looks like we're handing off a lot of our control to an outside source, no matter how closely we might be allied." “If running numbers will help alleviate some of the burden you bear upon your shoulders, then please, by all means.” His face remained in the twilight of both personas, each sentence seemed to play a different note in his mannerisms. “Though… I must admit, I am surprised to see Sanctuary actually acting.” The amount left unsaid fills the room, forcing her attention. She's always been told that, as a leader, you're always listening for the unspoken. You're balancing multiple conversations with each word capable of changing the outcome. You can tuck meaning into phrases like cards up a sleeve. She's never once won a card game against her brother. She works on her strengths to make up the difference. "They're not acting under orders. A lot of the members that are here came on their own, because of family or friendship." “I suppose the reasons are irrelevant at current. What must be focused on is how to achieve victory in order to fight another day.” He adjusts the conversation as he does his glasses. “…Speaking of which, I feel I am at a loss of an understanding of the specifics." The specifics? She gets another chance at trying to narrow down months of events into a succinct summary. The problem of information sharing among BT's own people buzzes around her head, with half-baked ideas that she's considered in those meandering moments where she's drifting between one problem and another. Better kept mission logs, maybe a little more bureaucracy. Not enough to stifle, just to smooth out their operations... Oh, right. Debriefing first. She tries to keep details relevant. "Alright," she starts, handing him off one of the reports passed around in their earlier meetings detailing the victims in Dalaran whose remains appeared no more than husks. Bodies of Sunreavers and stray mages. "These were found in the sewers a few months ago. We didn't get a confirmed ID until Aaren was attacked. Then Uncl-..Cobrak recognized Lazhio, not just from Aaren but from events prior...he borrowed a body of one of our own, using it like transport. I'm not sure about the form he's using now beyond the fact that it's strong." She picks up another loose sheaf with the pitlord-esque form of Lazio in the background, with the Rough Raiders to the front. "He breathed out a wave of felfire and had our best fighters retreating with just a word." “You said he is devouring… essence of those Magically inclined, those trained in the classic arts specifically? Or are those using natural magics or the Divine for example also at risk of this?” His first question as he reads the reports. No one he knew sticks out within them, if there are names.”He… borrows forms? Does he kill his host? Does killing the host neutralize him?” A soft knock comes from the door.