World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Sister Sister 5: Return to Sister Island

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"I will think it, and I will say it. You are silly."

But then she's kneeling and scooping the water into her palms in handfuls, and drinking it all the same. Typical Aleeana - provoke with words; concede with actions.

The outcome of the experiment is mixed. Aleeana drinks about as much as she can stand (complaining to you mildly each time she is required to sneak off to relieve herself during the evening); but you aren't wrong about the mana content. Aleeana's cheeks flush with color after each deep draught, and her reported experience is positive - better than dream dust, if a felt a little different ingesting in liquid. It's something like a hard shot of sweet liqueur after a tough day, and a cold glass of ice water on a hot one; refreshing, pleasant, intoxicating, heady.

But the other outcome - the effect on her eyes - is not successful; or atleast, not as pronounced as you might have hoped. There's definitely a discernible dimming to the fel-glow. You can make out the big circles of her irises now, for one; rather than the impenetrable, undifferentiated green lambency there was before. But the color remains, by the end of the night. Though the theory seems to be correct, the proportionality of it seems unfavorable. Fel energy stains deeply; a little yielding to it as a mana source seems to promise a very long period of its superficial phenotypism. It may require a fel-free mana diet of months or years to 'overpower' the now present green.

[WindStruck]

Spoiler: Sister Sister 6: The show that should have been canceled a decade ago

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Isaera chuckles at Aleeana's comment, but watches with morbid curiosity as she chugs and chugs the oasis water. Soon Isaera was starting to get worried that this much intake was just plain unhealthy.

"Woah now sister, lets not overdo it. I don't want you succumbing to mana addiction, and besides, even too much water at once is bad for you too..."

Looking at her eyes, she notices a difference, albeit small. "Hmm.. I can notice a difference. The green is not so intense... and yet you've ingested a lot of mana and water already."

She shrugs, refraining from a sigh (being around her sister sure did make her want to sigh a lot). "Well.. for scientific purposes, at least I feel better knowing the condition may not be permanent." She pulls out a small pocket mirror and shows it to Aleeana. "So what do you think? Do you like the glow now, or did you like it better while it was more intense?"

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Sister, Sister 7: Holiday Reunion Special

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"Oh.~" She checks herself out in the mirror; one profile then the other; pouting a little more, a little less; concocting an idea about how the intensity of the glow might be throttled up or down for occasions, learning the exact opposite lesson of Isaera's loving and protective gesture; but hopefully the intended one, too.
"I think it's more intimate to be able to see the iris more clearly; clearer eye contact, right? But I do like the mystery of the full glow. I'll think about it more." She gives the mirror back, and that seems to be the end of it.

Or, just about.

"I appreciate it. And you coming to me when I went down, in the caves. It hurt; not as bad as I was playing it. And if you'd gotten hurt protecting me while I was feigning vulnerability, I don't know what I would have done. But I appreciate it."

She gives you a little smile; a very naked expression, stripped just for now of its usual accents of self-appreciation or condescension. Less lovely, for sure, than her arrogant smiles - that may be why she employs them so often - but more valuable, in its genuine quality. "You're very powerful. Very gifted. We knew it, always; but it's a sight to see."

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari

Jakk'ari smiles widely stretching his lips over his tusks heartened to know Oro Manflinger is leading the refugee ogres and is warmly regarding the party. The thought of the families and children of the ogres persisting permitted some optimism to bloom in Jakk'ari's mind. Though their soon to be membership with the horde was worrisome. Would it be a union built upon loyalty burnished with honor or fealty?

The invitation was a pleasant surprise but would leave little rest for the weary. Though it would somewhat be inappropriate to represent the entirety of the Faraki at the summit the opportunity was too important to defer. Sunscar and her neighbors needed a delegate to convince the world of the value of the Faraki and it would have one.

As for travel plans walking just had to be the best option. Relying on a goblin to provide passage with a clanking and huffing dirigible couldn't be safe. And if the party needed to resupply, they could simply resupply at Orgrimar the metropolitan heart of the horde. Jakk'ari, Emelia, and Mor'lag could purchase the service of esteemed armor smiths, Isaera could find whatever arcane solution she needed for any problem she might have, and Marion would probably appreciate the finery available likely ranging from crocolisk leather to hydra teeth.

A momentous occasion. We can't waste any time traveling to Orgrimmar. I believe we should directly head to the Orgrimmar.

[WindStruck]

Isaera is among the first (or maybe the only) to object. "Directly to Orgrimmar? Do you hear what you're saying? We've.. we've got nothing to wear!" And by 'we' she probably meant herself more than anything, though it likely was applicable to any human or elf member in the group. Orgrimmar, the bastion of the horde, the stronghold of the orcs was not likely to have a wide selection of pretty and frilly dresses. Especially anything that would fit Isaera's striking figure.

((Thinking about competition, Marion?? you're looking at it!!))

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

By now Marion had come out of her little private fantasy, her bright eyes peering across the others with a knowing, devilish little smile across her face.

"I don't believe that will be necessary," Marion interjected gently.

"I think the safest route to pursue is back to Ratchet. From there we can refreshen and recover, and then take a ship to the Orgrimmar docks. We have one week, and we should optimise our time. After all, we do not want to dishonour our hosts by arriving out of the wastes in a disheveled state of affairs, do we?"

[Feathersnow]

Mor and Lag each almost question the wisdom of shopping in a provincial backwater instead of the capitol of one of this world's great superpowers. Then they don't. It was definitely true that orcs and humans were basically the same size and shape, but the twins knew they wouldn't trust a Vrykul or even a Mogu, should such rarified beings make themselves available, to tailor her a suitable raiment for such a party. Trolls and Tauren occasionally had individuals of their races that grew to the twins' scale, so she would wait until they reached the metropolis.

[MrAbdiel]

Emilia listens to the exchanges as she coaxes a cosy fire to life; and produces the leftovers of her food supplies to bodge together into a 'it'll do' casserole.

"Well, I don't know what 'Eclectic Formal' means. I assume it means formal by anyone's standards and we're supposed to just.. be diplomatic about it. I hope it includes armor, because... I'm not wearing a dress if I don't have to. But getting there is the trick."

She glances now that the fire is coming to life; takes her hair out of its ponytail; combs the locks into a comfortable splay with the raking of one hand.

"The 'Docks' of Orgrimmar are skydocks for zeppelins. It's build into a land-bound chasm. Parts of it pretty far below sea level; very defensible. To get there by ship, you'd be sailing for two days to the east coast of Durotar to one of the coastal villages, then hoofing it inland for a day or so. You'll lose a whole day you could save if you take the zeppelin, and have to do a bunch of overland travel on top of it. I think the zepplin's the smart bet - but the safest is just the straight hike."

Spoiler: Travel Options

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You have 7 days to get to Orgrimmar. Here's your speculative options:

1. Travel 6 days overland directly to Orgrimmar. This is the safest option (timewise), as it relies on no additional transport. It will leave you 1 Day of preparation, in Orgrimmar.

2. Travel 3 days overland to Ratchet, and 1 by Zeppelin to Orgrimmar. This is the riskiest (timewise) since who knows what challenges the zepplin will provide - but it looses your schedule up to have 3 days to rest/prepare either in Ratchet or Orgrimmar in whatever proportions you prefer.

3. Travel 3 days overland to Ratchet, and 1 by sea to the east coast of Durotar, and 1 overland to Orgrimmar. Splits the risk to give 2 free days to rest/prepare. Nautical dangers likely less troublesome than airborne ones.


You may, of course, split up and go in whichever proportions you like whichever ways. Despite the memery, sometimes splitting the party is cool and sensible.

[Feathersnow]

Mor and Lag considered this carefully. Not too long ago, going alone to a city full of filthy, scheming orcs would have terrified them. But they had friends and a battlename now!

"How about we, err..."

"I"

"Go on ahead by Zepplin"

"And arrange lodgings and finery for ourself"

[WindStruck]

"I am all for going ahead on a zeppelin as well. Just imagine, traveling 6 days through the dusty Barrens, arriving in Orgrimmar a dirty, disheveled mess with nothing to wear, trying to find lodgings and a suitable dress and accessories to wear for the occasion? It simply can't be done!"

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


Marion nods to the ogresses and elfs suggestion.

"I concur, what little amenities within Rachet will suit us far better than what is to be found in Orgrimmar."

Visiting a tailor in Orgrimmar? Marion rolled her eyes internally. Wearing dresses that had been resized from she-hulk, beer-keg arse orc women for her? Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari
I just don't understand the elf/human appeal in being delicate and desperately trying to preserve garments that are so ephemeral. The woman of Sandscar bared callouses and battle scars as a record of their struggles and triumphs. While accessories like the vaunted hydra teeth were either tough and hardy or ephemeral and transitory as the flower necklaces.

Jakk'ari harumphs having seen the party choosing to travel on a path with opportunities to shop for fineries that Orgrimar couldn't deliver. Jakk'ari begins to resign himself to the group's choice much like a parent unable to convince their not so dependent dependents otherwise. Staying together would be the best option. So many other factions would kill to have Mor'Lags' invite.

A tepid smile accompanies Jakkari's final appeal to the unified group.

I will join you on the trip if that is truly what you all want. But consider this, would you trust the cooperation and compliance of a goblin baron over the generosity of the land? The land may not provide everything we want but it gives everything we need. What can you expect from our goblin friend but a hefty fee? The land doesn't charge you variable rates for walking or nutrition. Besides, blunted quill boar spines and harpy feathers can adorn a dress just as beautiful as any dress the alliance or goblin hawk. So what do you say?

Jakk'ari plucks some fat honeypot ants from a shallow recess in the earth and carefully removes their engorged abdomen to display the enticing unique benefits from traveling the barrens on foot.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion listened to the trolls attempt at persuasion.

Travel through the dusty, arid hot barrens, plucking off the bones and feathers of slain enemies to adorn themselves with, so that they may arrive at the Orgrimmar for all to behold.

It took...all the willpower at Marion's command to resist vomiting right there and then at the very thought. Decorate herself like some cavewoman with the teeth of dead pigs? Not even when she was fleeing through the ghoul-infested Silverpine Forest during the Scourging did she have to stoop to such barbarity.

Instead, Marion just looked at Isaeara, and as friendly/passive aggressive as their association might be, it was likely that the elf and her shared the same view on this proposition and could be exchanged through a simple shared glance: hell no.

Looking back at Jakk'ari as he was now scooping...up ants to eat...because of course he was...Marion offered a friendly smile to the towering troll.

"It is an exciting and novel idea, Jakk'ari," she nodded, "but Isaera and I are both fatigued after our recent adventure across the Barrens and into the Wailing Caverns where we fought the mad druids. The rest and recuperation of Rachet is required, I think, for neither of us contain your or Mor'lags hardy fortitude..." she smiled pleasantly.


A little later, however, Marion was pull Jakk'ari aside gently. Having to stand on her tippie toes to whisper to him, unless he ducked down, the warlock spoke softly.

"The spirits you command...the ones of wind and air...can they carry a written message somewhere?" she asked curiously.

[WindStruck]

"It depends on the goblin. But regardless, despite their cleverness and ingenuity, they are still simple-minded creatures. Shiny things, flashy things, things that go 'boom' and 'whiz' all entice goblins, much like ravens. You can bribe them with gold, with food, with women.. or men I suppose. If you know the goblin's price, you don't even need brute force to have your way with them," Isaera muses.

"A goblin, I can control and deal with. But nature?" the elf shakes her head, looking at Jakk'ari, "That's your expertise, and I'm afraid even that isn't completely reliable."

"Look, I will be frank with you, Jakk'ari. I have no intention of showing up at this event looking like a cave man. Oh, I'm sure for an orc warchief or ogress, harpy feathers and quills would make a fine 'formal' garment. Not for me though. I'm more willing to trust a goblin and their contraptions to get me to Ogrimmar in three days, than any of the most skilled tailors in Orgrimmar to measure me, and assemble a fitting dress in one day."

From what Isaera could tell, at least it seemed that she and Marion seemed to be on the same page for once. While it seemed obvious to Isaera that Marion was sugar coating some lame excuses, she had preferred a more direct approach. As willing as she was to entertain arguments, she still felt she wouldn't be budging. There is no way she was coming to this ball looking like a savage! Though she soon realized, perhaps a lot of other more unsavory peoples might just do that.

Deep in thought, Isaera sighed. Maybe she just shouldn't go at all? Or.. get Aleeana to take her place. Yeah. She's sure the big oafs would never tell the difference. "Oh look, there's an elf, that must be her!"

[Feathersnow]

"Hey!"
"Orcs are savages by choice"

"We Ogres just have..."
"Less means"

"There are Trolls that share"
"Aesthetics less utilitarian,
"As well."

"I was hoping"
"In Orgimmar"
"A troll tailor whose standards"
"More resemble Zandalar than Sandfury"

(No offense)

"And might have experience with people of our stature."

"Because a frilly robe is exactly what a Warmage would wear in Highmaul on the homeworld "

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion listened to Isaera, once again needing to call upon all her willpower reserves to not leap across their semi-circle and tackle her to the ground to halt her words.

Instead, Marion blanched.

'I really must pull her aside and teach her some some decorum and etiquette...' Marions inner aristocrat noted. Good breeding wasn't simply good looks, it was also good manners.

Then Mor'lag spoke up about her own desire for some presentable clothing. Most people might scoff and laugh at this. An ogre in a dress? Ha! But Marion smiled. It was a warm, genuine and encouraging smile.

"I think may tailors will rush to offer you their best Mor'alg. You're the guest of honor after al!" she nodded.

[Plaids]

Marion Mordis
"The spirits you command...the ones of wind and air...can they carry a written message somewhere?" she asked curiously.

Jakk'ari sights as he relents on any further attempts at persuasion. Having Mor'Lag being keen on dressing to impress was unexpected but did fit with their quest for group acceptance.
Now addressing Marion.
I don't command the elements strictly speaking. Elements are implored to aid us with the promise that we will be worthy stewards of the natural world. Offerings and seniority also improve the chances of heard too. The elements could be used to deliver messages, but the good and legible condition of any letter would not be guaranteed. Some of the mischievous elementals can be terrible gossips as well. My chieftain relied on beasts to deliver confidential messages.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion smiled politely. Internally, however, she scrunched up her face and touched her index finger and thumb over the bridge of her nose.

She couldn't deal with this flower power, 'I request of the spirits!' poppycock. When she wanted something to happen, she wanted it to happen, not maybe happen on the whim of some ethereal being that might go that extra step and sabotage her works just for fun.

"Thank you very much, Jakk'ari," Marion smiled sweetly and nodded, before turning and heading off.

Then it dawned on her - the druids! Those hippies should be good for something at least.

Hurrying back over to the cave entrance where they had gathered and the rescued druids were planning their next move, the human spoke.

"Hello everyone!' Hi!" she smiled brightly, her 5'4" stature dwarfed by the towering night elves and taurens that doubtless turned to inspect the interloper to their circle.

"I hope you have all taken time to regain yourselves and plan your next journey. But I am wondering, and I understand this is a bit of a stretch, but, you know, all things considered.." she gestured around with a soft laugh, code for: we just saved your hippie asses.

"But, as someone not well versed in your magics and commune with nature, are you able to recruit the services of a raven, or some type of bird to carry a written message to Rachet for me?"

[MrAbdiel]

Ebru has lingered as the others have made preparations, and she fields Marion's question with a faintly apologetic smile.

"We can - but... not with true reliability. If you are going via the Crossroads, however, you might find a goblin there, who runs one half of a carrier-pigeon line with his brother in Ratchet. Those birds are well trained for the task; even if I cannot claim any druidic credit for it. I can.. try to send a small message with a carrier; but birds are distractible creatures. If it is urgent, we might try; if it is important... I would suggest a more conventional courier."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

There was that word again: unreliable.

Still, Marion kept her composure, her smile friendly and her eyes wide and gentle.

"Thank you for the warning, I will take you up on your offer!" she said, "and I will send another at the crossroads, just in case."

Nodding, "yes, this is an urgent matter," she spoke, unslinging her backpack and opening it up to reveal a surprisingly neat and orderly arrangement of traveling necessities and what looked like a tube. Withdrawing the cylinder, Marion retrieved from within a piece of parchment, a quill and some ink. Acquiring a book from her bag to use as a backstop, she started to write.

Once finished, she threw some writing dust over it to dry out the remaining ink and blew it off. Curling the small parchment up, no broader than her palm, the human then held it as she withdrew some wax and snap-clicked! her fingers to produce a tiny flame between them that she used to melt the candle. Once done, she dripped some upon the parchment's fissure, then pressed down on it firmly with the signet ring she wore on her left hand and which imprinted the rams head sigil within the wax as it cooled and closed the letter, before wrapping a little tight bow around it with a message 'to Nodrick Glitterthumb of Rachet' and then handing it over to the druid.

Packing her things away, she smiled and nodded.

"Thank you very much!" she beamed, "I am very happy to have helped the Cenarian Refuge! This needs to be delivered to Nodrick Glitterthumb at Ratchet."

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari

Jakk'ari sees Marion walk off with relaxed but with a purpose towards the druids now resting closer to the oasis.
Jakk'ari sinks back down by the low campfire considering the peace summit. Besides the alliance and horde there was no telling who would be in attendance. With all the nobility and craft unions, and mercenary bands involving themselves in conflicts opportunists always were always about and they would need to be challenged. Jakk'ari to Mor'Lag requesting a favor.

Mor'Lag at this summit we may encounter representatives from groups who threaten my clan. The Steamwheedle are one of them but there are many others. If I do come meet them I must challenge them. If it does come to that may I rely on your endorsement of my challenge? I will do so for as well for everyone here.

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC:

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Sorry for the slow-postin'. World of Warcraft: Dragonflight just launched, and it's competing pretty hard for my attention. Not that that's an excuse; but that's the culprit. Feathersnow, feel free to offer a reply to Jakk'ari even though I'm moving the scene on! You already know how much I like threading asynchonous scenes, to get those loose ends tied up. :)

Three days of travel across the open savannah and then the kodo-pounded road brings the party back to Ratchet with, welcomely, no outrageously hostile encounters. Isaera at one point early on the second day watches a centaur scout watching from a far hill - he must have followed you all the way from the oasis, and only now as the territory offered less cover was he caught in sight - but he turns back, and is not seen again. Jakk'ari interrogates the elements about what is responsible for a gouge in the road the size of a tsamma melon - the ethereal earth spirit Clay whispers than a small party of quillboar strayed all the way up here from their home in the Kraul, and came to blows over some disagreement. The chunk of earth was a disciplinary blow, wrenched from the ground with rough elemental compulsion and launched punitively at the young brawlers by an elder, who soon turned their venture back south to the brambled lands. Beyond this, and a little opportunistic herbalism for the troll, the team is unhalted - and your tower, such that it is, greets you from its place of overwatch, on the inland cliffs above the coastal village below.

It's much as you remember it, with some exceptions: visually, the area radiating from the tower's base is changing color. Dry, brown ground with recalcitrant clumps of spinifex grass has started improbably to produce clumps of hard-battling turf. The grass is dry in many places - the climate is a brutal opponent - but the signs are there that you are well on your way to having something like lawn that extends twenty meters from the base of the tower. Whatever dark groundskeeping Schlep is performing, it appears to be, if not winning, proving its valor. The murloc himself is there too; watering can in hand, dancing about as he splashes its content around - a one-for-you, one-for-me arrangement to keep his scales moist and cool in the bullying sun. But when he spots the group approaching down the road, he bounces a few feet into the air in what must be joy, drops the watering can, runs in an excited circle, and dashes to the door to knock on it with a few flat-palmed slaps. Miss Seraphis Moonshadow, doubles her role as majordomo to include doorman for the moment; the Kaldorei answering the knock and waiting with her surfeit of stately grass in the doorway for you to approach vocal distance. Schlep bobs in place; unable to be still for even a short time.

"Welcome back. I see you are all upright - a victory then?" But her faintly lambent eyes track to Aleeana, and one of the night elf's elegant eyebrows angles up. "And together with the elder Miss Runescribe, also. I had understood you were intending to report back here after you had stopped by the Crossroads to garner intelligence about the local Kolkar centaurs. I had begun to think you had encountered some untoward obstacle." It is such a delicate and refined casting of shade that it may slip undetected past many listens; but Aleeana is no stranger to the shade delivery, and receipt.

"As a matter of fact, I ran into an opportunity - one that superseded the initial task. So I hooked up with the main team instead; I hope you found some way to be useful in my absence, Moonshadow." They give each other fake smiles; a very low grade hostility present that neither seems to feel the need to escalate. It soon drops away from conversational relevance as the group heads inside into the relative cool.

"She's not wrong. The centaur and the samophlange might have to wait - we've been invited to some diplomatic event in Orgrimmar. We're hoping to get there by air. Can you make travel arrangements for the five of us, Miss Moonshadow? I need to take care of something in town."

"The Armistice Ball? A great honor. I assume you won't be the only parties heading there from Ratchet - I shall speak to the mayor's people about projected zeppelin flights. And, ah..." The night elf for the first time looks slightly rushed as Emilia, after dumping her pack inside the door, slips back out again apparently to 'take care of something in town'. "I'll call a general meeting for the evening if you can pass the message to Felix at his boarding house!" She gets a loose thumbs up over the shoulder from the town-bound squire; and that seems to be enough.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Welcome Home!

You chose the majordomo as one of your staff, so there's no labor or trouble in doing things like booking flights. You have up to three days rest and prep time in Ratchet. It's afternoon on the third day of travel right now; so there's not much you can accomplish today - but I'm open to valiant efforts. And Moonshadow is going to call an update meeting for the things you set in motion last time, so that's up next.

So, if your character wants to do something other than flop on their bed and decompress before the meeting, now is the time to post it.

Also, as a result of your success in this mission and the feedback that's come in from the Cenarion Circle, your operating expenses are getting boosted - You can now employ 0.5 more staff, and can add another room/feature to the tower. As far as staff goes, that means you can either pick up Voxombis, the ex-druid housekeeper; or bank that 0.5 to buy a 'full' staff member later. Base facilities are available like last time - basically, within reason and with my this-doesn't-break-the-game approval. Elemental security, gnomish radio room, on-site accommodations for your staff.. Have a think!

Spoiler: Bananaphone Only!

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Your message to Nodrick may or may not have gotten through - but there's nothing waiting at the tower for you besides a build up of unrelated business stuff.

Also, I've been thinking - I see your updated sheet goes up from 2 to 4 Wealth; and it's just too much! at 3 wealth, you could hire a small army to solve a problem, but it would financially wreck you to do so. At 4 wealth you can basically have a standing army. In a superhero world where standing armies are just mooks to get hit by the freeze ray, that's one thing; but this is a world of armies that make a difference. So as far as character points go, I'm going to ask you to cap out at 3 wealth until later on, when your enemies might be the kind of foes for whom wealth 4 is not inappropriate leverage. You probably have the equivalent of several millions of dollars in motion right now - but much of it is tied up in strategic loans, buying materials to make inventory, etc.

[Feathersnow]

Before

Mor and Lag pause after the request from Jak'kari. Not because they are unwilling, but out of the significance that they are important enough to ask. They have moved up in the world!

"We would be honored." They say in unison.

Now

Mor and Lag survey the garden.

"Good work,"
"Schlep."

"Can you find,"
"Two white geraniums?"

"Peace and mourning"
"And remembrance. "

"This is a solemn occasion."
"And we must remember."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion had been high spirits on the return journey, a smile on her pretty, angular face and her bright eyes allowing herself some enjoyment of the Barrens rugged charms. She said little, but could often be found reading one of her Tomes, clearly brushing up on things after their experience in the cavern.

Upon returning home, the human smirked and internally snickered at the catty little knives between the towering Night Elf and the shorter Blood Elf. 'Fight, fight, fight, fight...' the warlock silently giggled, resisting the urge to draw her hands up into fists and egg them on.

When she ascended the stairs to her quarters, however, imagine the dismal sheet-from-under you look on her face as she opened her door to find within her room...nothing she had wanted. Narrowing her eyes, pursing her lips, Marion found renewed vigor as she unceremoniously dumped her pack onto her bed, turning to Vargheist.

"Vargheist, I am going to be gone for a little while. Please watch over this area and make sure no one enters it without my verbal permission. Thank you," she nodded to her giant, hovering blue menace, as she locked her door behind her and departed the tower.

Marion, with a coin purse on her hip and still dressed in her travellers clothes, departed their tower and headed into town.

Nodrick Glitterthumb would soon hear a gentle rapping upon his door.

[WindStruck]

Isaera does indeed unwind, making the laborious climb up to her quarters shared by her sister and unpacking her things. She would bathe and comb her hair and freshen up. And she would see what she had to wear for the evening and possibly for the Armistice Ball.

One of the real reasons Isaera had wanted to come to Ratchet was yes, obviously to prepare for the ball. Perhaps she could purchase a nice fetching dress here, found, stolen, or possibly even legitimately made by an enterprising goblin around here, but the reality was, she already had a nice selection of clothing already with her. All those ridiculous amounts of luggage she brought along with her on this journey.. that wasn't all for nothing was it?

Hm. Isaera was even planning on taking a stroll around Ratchet this evening to see what was in stock, and then, maybe she'd splurge a little and have a nice meal out somewhere. After this guild meeting, of course. For now, she rummages through her belongings, pondering what to wear...

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari

The return trip from the Barrens was thankfully uneventful with Aleana was just as exemplary of a trail guide on the groups return to Ratchet as she had been when departing.
The emerging lawn was a pleasant surprise perhaps Schlep had some affinity to nature or the elements? Hopefully Schlep would enjoy the treat Jakk'ari had failed to convince the rest of the party to enjoy? The murloc had earned it and fish enjoyed consuming insects so by a transitive property the fishy Schlep should enjoy them, right? Jakk'ari provides the honeypot abdomen to Schlep which sparkle in the midday sun.

Jakk'ari lounges in his room for a few moments now parsing his thoughts on the now concluded journey. Arriving at a lush oasis, tussling with some centaur, almost getting his life wringed from him by a corrupted life elemental, and fighting the rogue serpent society of druids. The journey had been dangerous just like the last one. Ironically the horde and StoneMaul ogres had been less of a threat than life elemental and druids the group had encountered.

Now might be the time to secure the progress made toward securing the future of SunScar village.
Taking a pen and parchment Jakk'ari begins drafting his contingency. The work would have to continue and thankfully there were others who would.

Once the sun was closer to the horizon the letter was ready. Approaching Seraphis Moonshadow the older troll makes his request.
Miss Moonshadow, can you deliver a letter to a village in the Tanaris desert?

[MrAbdiel]

Mor'Lag

Schlep revels in even your mild praise, offering a circular fit of capering to glory therein. When you task him, he pauses after your request; then claps excitedly, apparently confirmingly, and hares off around the tower, and down the sloped road toward the town.

He is gone for some time. It is not until late that evening, after Miss Moonshadow has arranged for some passable pub-fare to be delivered up the hill for reheating and plating for your crew's dinner, that he returns. He has clearly taken the task seriously - his rubbery skin and scales are dry and dusty, suggesting he's been tirelessly operating without his standard operation dips into the sea, and will likely retreat to such after this. But he clutches in his webbed hands, held at full extension in front of him as though recognizing it to be too precious to be nearer to him, a fired clay pot containing a flowering geranium plant. It hosts half a dozen delicate white flowers, and two presently coming to bud; the whole of it apparently yours, the elected pair to be excised at your discretion.

Jakk'ari

Schlep scarfs the insectile treat with absolute relish upon your offering - he, atleast, has not become so 'civilized' as to lose touch with the premium flavours of nature's own feast table. He bobs in the shade provided by the lip of the tower, poking at the honey remnants on his own lips with his huge frog-fish tongue.

A few hours later, while you are lounghing and just considering beginning your letter, there is a knock at the door of your quarters. It's Schlep - unusual for the amphibious groundskeeper, coming to your door for some direct appeal. His features are too far from the humanoid standard for him to be easily readable, sometimes; but his body language usually makes up for that, and in this case he has a hunkered, embarassed posture with a suggestion of growing desperation. He opens his little notepad, and taps at a 'word' he has scrawled on the open page:

'JRMAMAN'

This is not a word in any language you know, though it uses human-common characters; and when pressed for clarification the murloc forlornly attempts to use his incompatible vocal array to bridge the gap.

"Jrrmurmeemurm. Jrrmurmum."

He taps the black page next to the word with a his pencil and thrusts the book toward you.

"Jrrrmrrlmmelmum?"

This is frog gibberish. After a little pantomime, Schlep gets a little more frantic; but then hops with the force of his next idea and gestures for you to stay where you are, then zooms down the stairs. He returns with Seraphis Moonshadow in tow; your majordomo who has become a sort of interpreter for Schelp. He repeats the 'word', and taps at his book, and thrusts it toward you, and looks at Seraphis. She considers for a moment, as determined as you are to source the murloc's distress.

"I think...Geranium? The flower Mor'Lag asked you about, earlier?"

With this, he spasms with ragdoll glee, and once more desperately thrusts the book and pencil toward you. The mystery solved, the night elf returns to her duties, leaving Schelp and yourself to sort our his need. It seems he needs to acquire geraniums - but despite his role as your groundskeeper, he doesn't know the plant by name. Flipping back to earlier pages where he has made clumsy sketches of other flowers and leaves, he is begging you, herbalist that you are, to help him by rendering an image of the plant for him to hunt for. It's a trivial enough task for you; it's not a local plant, but a very popular one for many races across Azeroth; and once you sketch out the leaf pattern and an example flower, all his piscean panic drains away. He offers one of his comic bows, and with his book and pencil in hand, heads back out into the stairwell and then wriggles almost bonelessly through one of the narrow windows, too embarassed to risk passing Mor'Lag on the lower floor without the prize in hand. Later on, when you see Schlep presenting a pot of white geraniums to Mor'Lag, you know you set him on the right track.

Seraphis Moonshadow is happy to assist with your courier request. "Absolutely. I'm sure there are reputable couriers in Gadgetzhan I could relay it through - but I understand the Explorer's League is beginning some operations in the area, and they have a quiet side industry of delivering items to and from remote places. Your homeland is not particularly close, and I cannot make the mail travel faster; but I can ensure with a high degree of certainty it gets to its destination, and that return correspondence reaches you."

Marion

Vargheist offers his sullen, devoted assent as you leave him to guard you room. Then you depart, commanding your weary legs to carry you down the slope into town; dreading the return trip, which will be uphill. You aren't the only one making the trip; Emilia preceeded you, and you can see her silvery form well ahead down the long straight slope; and Schlep, whatever he thinks he is doing, comes rocketing past you shortly after you leave, arms and legs pinwheeling wildly in his all-ahead-full gait. You make sure neither are in sight, as you make your way to Nodrick's residence; Emilia has turned off into one of the local bars, and you had lost track of Schlep until he bursts out of the town's only florist's shop, and then starts hooning off back up the hill again at the same full tilt, empty handed.

Nodrick lodges in one of the private rooms at a big boarding house by the docks. Its large common rooms are used by the passing sailors and work crews, not to mention itinerant adventurers; but its upstairs rooms are rented by the slightly wealthier clientele to which Nodrick belongs. The goblin attends the door, at your knocking; and you glance into his room to see a dwelling that is packed with shelves, lockboxes, crates and chests all stacked neatly and accessibly against the walls in a U-formation surrounding a small desk with ledgers and writing equipment in the middle. There's no bed, oddly enough, and no room for one if there had been.

"Oh, Lady Mordis - back so soon, eh? Hey, was that your bird personally, or someone else's? Because I gave up an opportunity to slap it out of the air when it tried peckin' my ear off, and if it didn't belong to someone who matters, I'm gonna regret holdin' back. But I got your message. It seems, uh... Are you sure -" He trails off, and flaps a hand. "You know what? I don't judge. Anyway, I have a couple of crates of stuff for you, and a hole in my back around that's beggin' for reimbursement. I got receipts. Except the last thing, the, uh... alchemical. Look, I used to date a girl who works with Noggenfogger down in Gadgetzhan; but given the timeframe you're working with, I've had to engage a local guy. He should have something ready for testing in two days, he says."

He hands you a wad of receipts, in case you want to count them yourself rather than trust his tally of the incurred costs. It's not inconsiderable. Flights of fancy like this could damage someone who didn't make sure to take them only rarely. But with them is a wooden tag with the number '52' burned into it, and a pair of keys on a ring.

"That's for the guy at the check-in, downstairs. I rented storage space, he'll show you where out back. Big key for the big crate, small key for the smaller one."

Isaera

Emilia heads off into town; and from your window, you see first Marion and then Schlep take off toward Ratchet proper. But you and Aleeana were both badly injured, on this last mission; and even with healing magic having repaired both injuries, there is a lingering tenderness and ache where the body is unsure how to process the sudden absense of trauma. It's a sensation greatly eased by simple recreational lounging. On the lowslung cot against the wall opposite your actual bed, Aleeana flops down onto her back, and spends the next four minutes shuffling and kicking her legs to get her boots off. It's a task that could have been accomplished with the use of her hands much more quickly; but when has she ever elected to do things the easy way.

In your luggage, there is absolutely a wealth of elven fashion. Silvermoon fashions have ranged wildly over the years; and your mother was a creature of glamor and spotlights, as performers prefer to be. She furnished you and Aleeana with the habit of composing and refining a wardrobe as a matter of feminine principle. There's nothing wrong with wearing simple clothes, practical clothes, and old clothes, she had once said; but if you do, the most people will say is that 'there's nothing wrong with her'.

Many of these dresses, skirts, halters and doublets you rummage through have memories attached of better times; before you had to run. Before the end of the world. And many of them would drop jaws; which is the reaction you are accustom to receiving. But it does occur to you also that they are all years old. Your family has not been in a position to keep up with trends. Ever since your older brother led your family to Theramore then left for the Battle of Hyjal, you had largely held the position of your family's protector by default. And the order of the time had been frugal austerity: for you, for your cousins, for your once glamourous, then barely consolable mother. It's only now, since you've started making adventurer money instead of street stall alchemist money that you've had the breathing toom to consider that you haven't bought or worn anything new since...

Well. Since Silvermoon still stood. Were elves still setting cutting edge alliance fashion, after the great desolation? If they weren't, who was? Night elves? Humans? Dwarves?

Gnomes?

These are questions that need answers. But then you realise Aleeana asking you something, and you tune into her commentary just in time to understand the thrust of her question.

"Don't you think it's funny? About Jakk'ari, I mean. We both grew up on stories of the crazy trolls in the hills beyond Eversong; but you and I both got turned halfway inside out and if not for old-man-troll back there... Well, we might not be dead; but we'd know we'd been hit. And I'd be scarred up, for sure." She grimaces; the idea apparently clashing with her vanity. "You're working with a troll, and an ogre. And a full-blown fel-user, by the way; in case you missed the demon monster in the fight. Maybe this really is the end of the factions - Alliance and Horde going obsolete. Maybe they'll announce a dissolution, at the ball." She yawns, and tucks her hands under her head; eyes closed, peaceful as she's ever been as she prognosticates. "That's my prediction."

[WindStruck]

As Isaera checks over and contemplates the wardrobes and drawers stuffed with clothes, it finally dawns on Isaera that yes, these clothes were somewhat old and.. for all intents and purposes, perhaps from another era and another civilization. It felt like ages since she was last in Silvermoon, living in a prim and proper, somewhat boring and stifling, yet functional and more scheduled life.

The memories came flooding back, and she held back some tears. It wasn't too difficult, as it was all mostly nostalgia and old fond memories.. simply marred by the rampage of the Scourge. Isaera blinks and looks off to the side, watching her sister still struggling to kick off her boots without use of her hands.

"Aleeena.. what is the point of having hands if you aren't going to properly use them?" she teases. It was a silly question in response to a silly action. No right or wrong answers, just lighthearted chiding.

Returning her attention to her selection of clothes, it suddenly all made sense why her mother had no qualms about taking most of these dresses. They were old, and the alluring matron most likely intended to buy new things with their newfound wealth. So could Isaera wear any of these to the Armistice Ball? It was a very definite yes. Any one of these old garments were probably much better than anything she could have hoped to find in Orgrimmar. And yet, there was still the nagging feeling in the back of her head that she could do better. She should do better!

She turned her attention to Aleeana again who had started talking about something: the troll, the ogress, alliance and horde. Isaera looked down and rubbed her abdomen where the centaur spear once practically skewered her body. It mildly ached with a strange phantom pain. Or was it all real? She could hardly tell.

Isaera managed a small smile and a light chuckle. "Well, Jakk'ari is perhaps one of the most reasonable trolls I have met so far. But it's true, he's nothing like the 'Wathas. They are of.. an entirely different tribe and peoples, I imagine..."

At the mention of Marion and the 'demon monster' Isaera's face darkens and she looks about and listens for signs of activity nearby (though she then remembered she saw Marion heading into Ratchet). Still she keeps her voice down and approaches her sister with a low voice. "I truly am worried about that. I feel like I can trust the troll and the ogress. But that warlock..?" Isaera considered all the happenings she had witnessed, from strange activity and boxes coming to and from her room upstairs, to the all-too-casual comments about the Burning Blade, the demonic transformation and the absolutely horrible things an actual evil demon would say, the aggressiveness with the centaurs and the shifting of blame. "I really don't know, Aleeana. I don't trust her. Horde and Alliance may just be different peoples with different cultures. But demons and the Fel, are Fel and demons.. I don't think we can trust her..."

After a tense pause, Isaera shifts the subject and raises her voice to a normal level. "Still, I rather doubt Alliance and Horde will be dissolving just like that. There are still people with prejudices. And I imagine there are still profiteers and power-hungry despots that would prefer conflict to giving up even a tiny crumb of their piece of pie."

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari

It was good therapeutic even to see everyone else scurry about on occupying themselves on more mundane tasks. The Runescribes were curating their diplomatic wardrobes, Marion was off discretely conducting her own business, and Mor'Lag had curiously requested geraniums. With everyone else out and about Jakk'ari meditates.

Spoiler: Jakk'ari's letter

Show

To my dearest and beloved,
I have made progress on my mission. I have come amongst a wonderous congregation who are tasked with delivering Azeroth to safety. But the group has faced great danger and will encounter even more. Should I be sent to Da Other Side I will give you a key to unlock all your doubts. Should you be called travel the Merchant Coast search for a blackened tower visible from the port. There you will find my fellow initiates to the congregation. An eclectic group from peoples and tribes who been brought low. Tell them you have been chosen by me and offer your services humbly. I cherish you my beloved.

Jakk'ari's arm quivers and his knuckles whiten as he grasps at the bronze given to him by the DarkSpear troll chieftain. Meditating further would be of no use anymore. Perhaps Emelia and Felix were available while everyone else was out and about.

Spoiler: OOC plan

Show

Jakk'ari just plans requesting the key be sent to Sunscar if something were to happen. I'm quite happy playing Jakk'ari at the moment. I just played Hearthstone Book of Mercenaries and the troll Bru'kan is one of the two heroes out of ten who perishes plus I think Jakk'ari would worry about falling in combat after the last adventure.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion moved towards Nodrick's residence like a woman on a mission. She offered the niceties required of her, as being in a hurry was no excuse for bad manners, and when she was standing before Nodrick's door she rapped upon it gently, but incessently, until the old goblins form soon filled the frame.

""Oh, Lady Mordis - back so soon, eh?"

Marion smiled.

"Yes, I am back from the sunny and lovely subterranean caves of the central Barrens. I must return for my vacation next year."

When she was invited in, Marion closed the door behind herself.

"You know what? I don't judge. Anyway, I have a couple of crates of stuff for you, and a hole in my back around that's beggin' for reimbursement. I got receipts."

"I'm sure you do..." she answered, reaching out a slender hand to receive the notes, her eyes swiftly scanning the writing.

"Except the last thing, the, uh... alchemical. Look, I used to date a girl who works with Noggenfogger down in Gadgetzhan; but given the timeframe you're working with, I've had to engage a local guy. He should have something ready for testing in two days, he says."

"Hmmm?" Marion grunted as she looked up from the notes, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

"Oh! Oh yes, that idea of..." she trailed off, pursing her lips. As satisfying as it would be to watch that smug little princess fret over her ever expanding backside, Marion smiled darkly in fantasy, tilted her head back and forth and then shrugged it away.

"No no, that's fine, no need anymore. The desert temperature, and all that, it went to my head a little," she dismissed the idea with an explanatory smile.

Nodrick was right about the cost. Indeed, this was a sum that, just half a year ago, Marion would have been desperate to get her hands on. Now she was throwing it away on, admittedly, a little bit of an ego trip.

No. She corrected herself, composed and dignified. She is investing in the best appearance and debut as she can for her House and Name. Appearances matter. Dignity and grace are the grease with which we oil the machine of prestige and diplomacy. These were not costs they were investments, it was not an ego trip, it was her family's name returning to prominence. Ever since the end of the second war her good name was marred and beaten around, kicked into the dirt and mocked by traitors and opportunists. Where once that rams sigil stood for dependability and industry, only a forlorn pit of violent orcs, treasonous syndicalist and that damn scourge remained, chewing and devouring a lineage that had presided over their mountain home for as long as humans had lived in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Really, Marion, I'm disappointed in you sometimes, the warlock thought to herself, adopting a more dignified, but sharper-angled and silver-tongued alter-ego avatar to help get her back to a clearer way of thinking. Humility is a virtue, girl, but too much is a crippling lack of self-esteem and confidence. Our name has suffered enough indignities already and here you stand on the moment of its return to respect on a wide stage after decades in the mud, yet you're fretting about currency? Did you worry about money when you were trapped in those ghoul-infested woods with the other refugees, every ten minutes bringnig another agonised scream and tearing flesh?

No.

Was currency the most pressing issue when you had to break into that farmers coop in the night and stuff down those eggs raw because you hadn't eaten for seven days?

No.

And was gold the top priority when you were shivering alone in the Silverpine Forests at night, hiding from the Paladins who were only distracted away by local villages that needed their protection?

No.

Exactly. No. It is transitory. But that name of yours and your sigil was carried aloft by your father and his father before him, beneath which were your brothers, your sisters, your mother, and it's all that's left of them. They're all gone. Everything relies on you. And now you stand to draw it back up high in the air where it belongs, and you fret over money?

Marion swallowed, blushing softly over how realising how petty her mind had been.

Has your newly acquired riches already turned your brain to mush? Made you soft and plump, like some air-headed girl that nary worked a day in her life? Focus and look at the big picture, you stupid little girl, you endured years of disgrace and horror and have single-handedly brought your name back to wealth and prominence: act like it.

She was right. From this procession greater things would come.

Nodding, "Yes, thank you Nodrick. I will provide my seal for you to admit these to Expenses and Accounts, to ensure you're compensated" Marion said after what seemed like a few moments of her zoning out. The warlock composed herself, smiled pleasantly and nodded in appreciation towards the goblin.

"You have helped me enormously, as always. And don't worry too much about these costs, I think we know enough people now that we can re-coop most of them with personalised sale in Orgrimmar and tradesmans wives in Stormwind and Southshore" she thanked and reassured him, "is there any chance you could have the crates delivered to my current residence?"

oOo

Assuming such a thing could be done, Marion stood at the mouth of her room within the groups tower as she watched a few goblins hurry up the stairs, coordinating the loads of two crates to deliver them into her bedroom/workshop.

Thanking and tipping each of them, Marion had her hands on her hips as she looked about her quarters, pursing her lips as she contrasted it with the contents of those crates. "I really need to clean up around here, designated an area for something more...plush. Maybe buy my own manor soon?" she spoke to herself, as Vargheist stood vigilantly by the door.

"Ah well, no matter, first lets get this..." she trailed off, picking up a crowbar, approaching the larger crate and shoving that metal wedge into the top seam of the crate and pushing down on the improvised fulcrum to Crack! the lid open, this action soon visited upon the second, smaller crate.

"Oh my..." she smiled to herself, beholding the bounties within...