warforged | sometimes you can't make it

Entry tags:

sometimes you can't make it

Who: Alexstrasza, Krasus/Korialstrasz, and the Redsworn
What: Successful retreat into the Ruby Sanctum
Where: Ruby Sanctum
When: After a long, grueling battle near the borders of Suramar
Warnings: Please PM the mods if any warnings are needed

[The Ruby Sanctum is a flurry of activity. This becomes clear within two seconds of stepping through the portal. The wounded are guided over to a grassy clearing surrounded by saplings and adolescent trees, bade to lay down and receive healing from other dragonkin. Some of the trees are years old, while a few look to have shot up recently. If you watch, vines engulf one fallen warrior; the body sinks into the ground, and a tiny sapling appears in its place.

Despite the war going on outside, the sanctum is less of a cavern and more like a self-contained dimension. Ample sunlight drifts down through scarlet leaves, which are occasionally home to the crimson scales of a whelpling. There is life everywhere: insects on twigs, birds chirping overhead, flowers at your feet. Dragon eggs lay nestled in the nooks and crannies offered by the tranquil forest. There is a decently-sized spring filled with fresh, pure water, as well as some small rocky outcroppings to sleep in. It's warm and comfortable enough to rest out in the open, too.

The cloaked and ever-mysterious Krasus stands watching the dispersing redsworn, his back against the massive oak in the center of the sanctum.

Occasionally, one may glimpse a beautiful red-haired woman with copper skin winding through the copse.]

[ooc: Mingle log for redsworn!]

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Oh. The problem of there being so many humans who have no recollection of Azeroth. The problem of an odd number of the other Dragonsworn claiming to be from this "Earth" place, where dragons are apparently a myth and the Legion is unknown. The problem of people taking orders from her and not questioning it.

The problem of the only remotely sensible person she's met thus far being a possibly-insane blood elf. That problem.

"You would not tell me this if you did not have an idea about what to do, would you?"

'Possibly' insane blood elf?

Mar let out a bark of laughter. "An idea about what to do? The obvious, of course. You, I, and perhaps one or two others who know which end of a sword is up -- unless that sword is Zin'rokh, but in my defense, everybody thought it was held the other way -- anyway, if we don't get these people up to speed on the basics of Azerothian survival, we're going to see a bloodbath."

He ought to know about the sword, since he had the damn thing slung over his back, much more readily visible now that they weren't arguing tactics in the middle of a battlefield.

For a moment, his cheerful expression vanished, a frown darkening his expression. (Fairly literally, since his narrowed eyes shed slightly less light.) "I'm not normally in favor of handing the civilians arms and armor and telling them it's press-gang time, but given the circumstances, I don't think we have a choice. They're already recruited, the same way we are. We need to give them the tools to survive."

And again, the elf puzzles her. One moment he speaks of strange things with no explanation as to what they are, and the next he speaks sense. And he speaks to her not as an enemy, or at least someone who might bear a grudge, but as an ally. As a friend, almost.

Slowly, she takes the fruit from his hands. But she does not take her eyes off of him, as she did with the waterskin. Instead she watches him, his expression, his eyes for any tell that might hint at deception.

"Do you believe they will survive against the Legion if we do this, elf?" she asks, gaze still fixed on him. She tries to keep her voice void of emotion - she asks not because she does not believe. If the elf wants her trust, he'll have to prove he deserves it.

Maridian chuckled again. "You're asking the question the wrong way around," he said, pulling his hand back into his lap now that it was free of his burden.

If she wanted to look into his eyes, well, good luck reading them while they glowed green, eternal testament to the fel energies his people had imbibed before the Sunwell's return. But if she listened to his voice...

"I'm absolutely certain they won't if we don't."

Dissonant. That's what the humans call it in their tongue, isn't it? A thing that is one thing disguised as another. Things like cheerfulness masking morbid sarcasm. That's what's troubled her about him, the sanity underlying his... eccentricity. The dissonance. That it seems disingenuous.

But in that moment, it would be difficult for her to mistake him for anything but genuine. He talks like a Vindicator - like a proper servant of the Light. Like how she should act, how she should be.

She breaks eye contact with him, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "Light take me, I never thought a blood elf would ever be my best ally. We'll need to start as soon as we can."

His next laugh was entirely sincere, head tipped back. "I don't see why not. The draenei were our best allies at the Sunwell!"

Sitting straight again, Mar turned at the waist to face her, offering a hand. "Maridian, Blood Knight M--" Oh, that's right, she had taken off her armor. He quickly yanked off the gauntlet, then offered his bare hand. Fair and equal, at least in this respect! "Blood Knight Master, a couple dozen titles that don't matter, and generally pleased to meet you."

She shifts the fruit to one hand, slowly - but not hesitantly- taking his hand. The Sunwell... yes, they did fight beside the elves, even if she wasn't among them.

"Vastania. I am a Vindicator of the Aldor."

Maridian viewed it more as the complete salvation of his people, since without the Sunwell they would be still siphoning off fel energies and committing such morally dubious acts as imprisoning naaru. Not that he hadn't signed up for the fruits of the latter as soon as possible, but he much preferred things the way they were now.

"The Aldor? That takes me back," he said with fond nostalgia. "I practically lived on the Aldor Rise during my deployment in Outland, and yet I can't remember the last time I stopped by there when I was passing through."

"You... the priests let you onto the Rise?" She makes a face of equal parts shock and disbelief, brows raised and lips drawn into a frown. "They let you up on the Rise more than once?"

"Of course they did. When I came to Shattrath, I swore allegiance to the Aldor. They gave me a couple of funny looks because of my race, of course..." To put it mildly, but they had most certainly let him join.

Well, that at least went a long way to explaining why he thought he could be familiar with her. And if the anchorites hadn't tossed him off the edge of the Rise already, he might be more trustworthy than she imagined. There's even a chance that he might know some of the same people she does.

But she'll have to pursue that thought another time.

"Well, I suppose that would make you my brother in spirit, but I think that honor should go to someone I've fought beside first. And for that," She rolls a berry between her fingers as she thinks. "We need to organize ourselves before we think of organizing everyone else."

Oh, Vas. No, no, Mar was this friendly with everyone. Maybe a little more so with girls he found cute. But it had nothing to do with a history he honestly hadn't thought about in a while, and everything to do with the fact that they were or at least ought to be Azerothians first, and thus all basically family in the fight against Azeroth's enemies.

"That's fine, you wouldn't want to be a sister in spirit to my sister without a good long getting-to-know-you period. She's been a little cranky ever since the whole rise-from-the-grave thing, I think quite understandably." Mar, that might not be something you should just say like that. "Did you have something in mind? Because as far as I'd gotten in this thought process was, 'recruit fellow competent person to help'."

~~Obviously he'd succeeded in his quest, because she'd dropped armor.~~

Vas blinks. Did he just admit that his sister was undead? And not even with a bit of shame? She eyes him skeptically, and decides not to pursue the details.

Instead she continues to roll the berry between her fingers as she thinks. "We will first need to be able to gather people together all at once. We will need to evaluate each one, and with only the two of us... that could take some time."

She finally clasps the piece of fruit and holds it still. "If we are, how did you say, 'press-ganging' them, we should at least form ranks. Get the skilled ones ready first, then use them to prepare the others."

The idea that he should feel shame had never occurred to Mar. His sister hadn't asked to be raised as a death knight. In fact, she was never even consulted. Why worry about what someone was when what they did was far more important?

"We're not the only ones with some skill, fortunately. What we may need to worry about most of all is who has some idea of what is afoot. Many of the people I talked to didn't even recognize the Legion, much less realize what a bad thing it is that they're here with such strength."

He glanced over to her, a little smile on his face in appreciation of the challenge. "Are you used to this sort of thing, by any chance?"

"What thing? The taking care of civilians thing?"

Vas pops the berry into her mouth, thinking on what he might mean by that. The being stuck without reinforcements part, certainly. And even the part about having some measure of authority, but... she turns that thought around and sends it back to the recesses of her mind from whence it came. This isn't Zangarmarsh, and she's not an Exarch. Things don't have to go like they did back then.

"Oh please! You wear the armor and serve the Light, of course you've taken care of civilians. In fact I'd be surprised if you hadn't repeatedly found multiple civilians in the middle of warzones or swamps, desperate for a helping hand back to civilization... odinn fale, I know I did. And don't even get me started on Harrison Jones --"

He held up a hand to interrupt himself, realizing he was getting off-track. "I mean in forging a ragtag, motley group of misfits into an elite fighting force capable of taking down the sort of things we're going to be facing."

It's getting a little easier for her do dismiss his odd rambling as just the quirks of an eccentric mind. The way that he speaks of bringing together the other Redsworn, however, is honestly a bit disturbing. That it's something that happens often enough, that it's easy.

"N-no, this is the first time. Why, have you?" she asks, ahe'd almost be inclined to call him a liar if he said yes. Almost.

"Quite proudly. Particularly back in the Northrend deployment." He held up a gauntleted hand, then clenched it into a fist. "We were legendary. Seven years of misery and torture I paid back to the Scourge. Every death in Silvermoon, we avenged in spell and steel! And not to brag, but I was at its forefront! Selama ashal'anore -- justice for our people, Vindicator, and behind my shield, we claimed that justice without death on our side!"

Now he'd gotten all fired up. He swung the fist around, extending it towards her as if making a vow. "This is my business, and now it's yours as well. Anar'alah, we'll protect these people and give them strength!"

If it were anyone else, that kind of overly dramatic speech might have fallen flat. But in spite of her initial wariness toward him and his strangeness, Vas feels the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. It's just the talk of vengeance, she tells herself. Just inconvenient sympathy for someone who spilled blood in equal measure for their slain kinsmen. For someone who took the fight into their own hands instead of running.

But just for a moment, the weight of leading their inexperienced fellow Redsworn feels as light as a feather. If she thought he spoke like a Vindicator before, she doesn't know what he sounds like now. No- she knows exactly what. A hero, something that the Draenei have not had in a very, very long time.

She takes his hand and pulls herself to her feet, but even looking down at him, he still seems somehow larger than himself. Unreal, even if not entirely all there in the head. Or maybe that's how a hero needs to be.

"Yes. Naaru let it be so."

What sane person would step in front of dragons, demons, monsters, and maniacs with the strength and ruthlessness enough to cut blood swaths through a host of lesser men... and say, 'Hit me! Give me your best and I'll return it to you tenfold!'

Mar had the one thing he needed: conviction. Absolute, unshakeable conviction that by standing between the worst that Azeroth could offer and every single other person in the world, he was doing the right thing.

"That's the spirit!" And with perhaps entirely too much familiarity, he slapped her on the back with a broad grin. "With our combined experience, determination, and stunning good looks, there's nothing we can't accomplish! No more Alliance or Horde labels from this day forward, Vindicator -- today, as it should be, we stand as Azerothians!"

Vas' soaring mood is cut short as suddenly as it takes off. Perhaps if she was a head or two shorter, that friendly slap would land below her shoulders. Instead, it falls squarely on the base of her tail. She inhales sharply and tucks her tail firmly between her legs, uttering a curse in eredun.

"You- please do not do that."

"Ah. Eh-heh." Mar grinned sheepishly, lifting a hand to the back of his head. "Sorry. Got carried away in the moment. I'll aim much higher next time."

It may be some solace to her, knowing that at least he realized he'd erred. He did have SOME grounding, as much as he might sometimes seem he was as unfamiliar with basic down-to-earth sense as the party members accompanying a bored priest.

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sometimes you can't make it

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