Twilight Patrols ((Closed/Structured RP)) 3

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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(( Still Rollin' ))
'The Black Rose' felt a constant dull, this feeling of nothingness. When the body has taken enough punishment and pain to justify self termination, it shuts down, it closes down, it goes into sleep. A living body will shut down to prevent further damage and pain upon itself, the person will often go into a coma or even die. Virella's mind had done a similar thing, it had withdrawn into itself and closed the door to the outside world.

The pure agony Virella would have felt if she was to open her mind or stay conscious would be too much to bear, so the uncontrollable elements of her mind and body had shut her down. Slow primitive magic was at work repairing necromantic bonds and readying her mind to open to the outside once more, with a bare minimal of pain. She had overdone it once more, lost control, expended valuable elements of her being...

Yet it would take a few days to renew her body to functioning, she had killed enough of the gyreworms to allow her to survive even if they left her. Virella could spend a few days reacquainting herself with her soul and mind. She was intent on taking this brief reprieve for what it was... a lesson.

… then some git woke her up.

“Fool!” she cried, her personality overpowering her will to scream just enough for her to scold whoever had gone out of their way to help her.

Virella clutched at her head, writhing and pushing herself back to get away from a pain that was inevitable and inescapable. The blood had done enough to bring her back, giving her bonds the power they needed to power consciousness. Yet the broken bonds in her mind and the withdrawal was causing her immense pain. “Shadow!” she cried. Then, with full intention, she prepared to kill and feed on whoever had just brought her back...

But she stopped.

The sound of Virella slamming her jaw closed and struggling against something internal was highly audible. For a long moment she did little but stay there and quiver, before finally drawing herself back up to full height. Her black eyes shimmered with pure purple necromantic energies, and she spoke through clenched undead maw...

“Thank you,” she forced out, “Do not help me any further. This agony,” -her voice broke with the concentration, and she barely stopped herself crying in pain- , “This agony... is punishment.” With those words she looked out across Deepholm and took another shuddering breath, breath that's purpose was relatively ambiguous.

“Who are you?”

Varonus turned his gaze from the dark clad warrior as Vimmi finally approached them. Nodding to her as she walked past him, Sylvanora and Perfection, the mage turned his attention to those gathered. Looking to the night elf Sylvanora first, the mage inclined his head to her, "Seems Vimmi has kept many familiar faces among her; it is good to see you as well, Sylvanora." crossing his arm over his waist, the mage slightly bowed his body courteously. He looked toward the rogue human beside them, Perfection; she seemed a little.. too hostile toward this new comer, however in all honesty the mage couldn't rightly blame her as he was taking precautions as well, unseen though they were.

Turning toward Waraila it wasn't very hard for him to tell the druidess was in pain and exhausted; seemed most of the party was after the encounter. He had arrived late and was probably the least injured individual there and had the most power to spare. Placing a gloved hand on the druidess's shoulder, the mage closed his eyes a moment as his arm began to glow and become surrounded by blue rings of energy that flowed down him and onto the taureness; granting her a small amount of mana to assist her.

"I'm no healer but I can give you some of my own energy; don't overexert yourself, more are in need of your assistance." he spoke, nodding to her as he took his hand from her shoulder. After that he nodded to her request, turning to the unmoving body of Alistar, "I'll look after him," he turned back to her, his eyes still retaining that soft, blank look, "You may want to give yourself some mending as well, Waraila."

Turning once again to the dark stranger the mage waited for a response, before looking up after noticing a large shadow fly over them and with a beat of his wings Alvanar landed beside the group, teeth barred and a low growl emanating from the brown drake's chest as he looked at the black armored stranger.
Ithalin was NOT having a good day. He wasn't dead, so that right off the bat was a dissapointment. But when he had turned over so he could see something besides a face-full of rock, he encountered a sight that made him just want to turn over again.

A f-ing gyreworm. His scythe had managed to make a decent dent in the worm's body, making it unable to tunnel, but it still seemed rather pissed off. Balastraz, make yourself useful and kill the bloody thing.

But I was having such fun thinking about what I'll do when you're dead and I'm free!

Kill it, or I will MAKE YOU kill it. Just like that time in Booty Bay.

Never. Again.

In the couple of seconds it took for this conversation to transpire, the gyreworm had prepared itself to strike. Just as it was about to leap forward and finish off it's prey, a ear-splitting screech filled the air, and a giant bolt of frost hit the side of the gyreworm, knocking it over. Balastraz landed a moment later, and bit down on the part of the gyreworm that was frozen by the bolt. The worm stopped moving a moment later.

Ready to move?

Aye. And that does count as your repayment for dropping me, so don't worry about me bringing it up soonish.

WAIT A SECOND.....a screw it. Get on.
Ithalin ran up into the saddle and directed Balstraz towards where he thought he saw a crashed ship as he was falling. He saw a small group of people and directed Balastraz towards them. Too few, he thought, too few have returned from Vash'jir. As Balastraz landed and he walked towards the group, he saw from first glance that the Nerubian was gone. It seemed like his elf friend was too, along with Spannershield's gnome friend. As he got to the group, he could see many were wounded, including the commander herself.

He took some of the massive amounts of blood energy and healed himself with it. He took some additional Blood and Unholy energy out of the air and charged his runes with it. When he was done, he saluted the commander and said, "The Frosthand has returned, Spannershield. What task would you give me?"
Malak grinned inside his helmet, they were jumpy and they were cautious; just the way he liked people. He first focused on the Blood Elf, seeing the markings of a magic user and his distaste for the man grew. Fenris had been changed, his life destroyed and rebuilt by magic, it was one of the few things he hated most in the world but he let those feelings pass as he was backed up by a Kaldorei, the irony of such a thing almost made Malak laugh. Almost. But having served with the Black Company he had learned to put aside racial tensions and factionism in favor of a stronger unit. He had at first ignored the rogue who felt it her business to get in his face, normally such displays were meant to show who was in charge. She would learn never to question his abilities or attack him in such a way.

It was not Malak’s way to demand respect before it was earned, he could tell these people had been through a lot and had fought a lot of enemies and come out on top. Respect would have to be earned with more than just aiding them against the gyreworms, but Malak was more than ready to earn respect, even if that was not his main goal. “Little girl you might want to watch yourself, I’m known to bite…” Malak muttered quietly, loud enough for them to hear but they would have to strain themselves and when they realized what he had said the tone of his voice would send their skin crawling and make them even more cautious. ‘Keep them unbalanced and your victory will be assured…’ The words of his mentor coming back to him, then the voice of the gnome interrupted any further discussion with the other members of the Patrol. He looked her over, eying her mechanical arm with degrees of awe, envy and respect.

It was obvious that this one lived to battle and had seen her fair share of combat; maybe he would indeed find the opponent that would set him free with these people. He could tell that a great burdened weighed on her as well, it was easy to tell that the deaths of her companions, past and current, saddened her and the fact that most of her unit was dangerously close to death. In a swift motion, Malak spread his hands out wide, palm ups and laughed. It was the sound of a predator, a deep throaty laugh as he then started clapping his hands. “Well, well, well… Commander Spannershield I must admit that this rag-tag group has promise… As I said you may call me Fenris, my real name is unimportant all you need to know is I am here to…” Malak paused letting his eyes roam for a short time as he tried to find the right word, serve would not do but what word would suffice.

“Ah, yes! I am here to join, whatever this is for my own reasons. If you wish to get more out of me you will be sorely pressed. Who I am and what I’ve done is better left untouched, however if you allow me to join then know that I am a loyal soldier, and a skilled field medic.” Malak grinned at the last bit, he always enjoyed patching people up after they got to watch how cruel, destructive and dark he was in battle. It was always interesting to see how people reacted to him, his proper speech and accent might give away his origins as would his transformation but beyond that; who Malak “Fenris” Corrigan is would remain a mystery. Only two men truly knew him, one was dead the other disappeared; such is the way of the Company. Malak re-folded his arms as he waited for Vimmi to respond, the sight of a wyvern not doing anything to distract him at all. He could tell these people were tired, injured and beleaguered; albeit they would prove to be dangerous foes Malak was fresh and had a lot of tricks up his sleeves. Not to mention razor sharp claws and teeth that he just loved sinking into the flesh of his enemies. Then the voice of the human dragged his attention away from the group and behind him, a smirk on his face.

“You really should listen more instead of act like the rogue over here, blustering only gets you so far in life…” Malak’s voice was quiet, deadly and sarcastic; he was trying to goad those two into attacking him, just to see what would happen. They looked like they were the easiest to goad and prod into rash action and as always Fenris enjoyed tearing such individuals apart. It was almost scary how much fun the Worgen had clinically destroying a person and getting them to beg for mercy. It was a sick game he played, and one he played well. Malak then noticed a brown drake land behind the other group and kept his demeanor, such pets either meant powerful masters or lucky ones. 'I think I have finally found those that will help break my chains...' Malak thought happily, it was time to finish the cycle and release his true potential.
“Who are you?”

Ein smiled coldly beneath his helmet. He had been right after all, and his blood rune had been sufficient to revive this being- a female, judging from the voice. A good thing, then, that the person responsible for the creation of the bloodworm was not dead.

"I am the Einherjar, at your service." he said. "A former Death Knight of the Lich King, now a Knight of the Ebon Blade." Ein stood up and raised a fist, letting swirling darkness gather around it. Eventually, the energy dispersed and flew into various parts of the cavern, picking bones seemingly at random and bringing them together. After about half a minute, a bone gryphon stood ready at the side of the Death Knight, and another rune -a frost rune, this time- had dulled. "And now, I need to see the commander of this expedition. Would you happen to know which one it is?"

When the blood mage wordlessly pointed a skeletal finger at the assembly gathered around the female gnome, Ein nodded and mounted up on the bone gryphon. After a short flight- barely a hop, really, but appearances must be maintained- Ein walked up to the group, still astride his undead mount. Remaining mounted, the Juggernaut looked over the group, trying to judge their relative values by what he could see. The druid was no threat: she was clearly focused on healing, and nature-based healing spells would do nothing to a Death Knight. The rogue, likewise. Their kind relied on stealth, ambush, and poisons. Well, poison would do nothing against a corpse, and his armor would suffice to defeat any strikes he didn't see coming. The worgen warrior was impressive, certainly: the two other warriors were probably just as good. There were a few other people he resolved to look into later: they were unknowns to him. And finally, there was a Death Knight calling himself the Frosthand. Ein had no idea who this was, and that worried him. It probably meant that this Frosthand was one of the Death Knights made after the betrayal of Acherus, and the Knights of the Ebon Blade were inherently distrustful of their kind.

Turning away from the other Death Knight, Ein looked down at the gnomish warrior who was reputed to lead the Borean Patrol. She seemed quite formidable, and that mechanical arm of hers undoubtedly had a few tricks up its sleeve- no pun intended. If the rubble around them was anything to go by, following these people would never be dull. Letting a smile briefly cross his face, the Death Knight properly addressed the Borean Patrol for the first time.

“You would not believe what I have had to go through to find you people.” he said as a smile flashed across his face again. “But be as that may, I have come to offer my aid in whatever capacity you may need. The Einherjar of the Knights of the Ebon Blade is at your service.”
Perfection & Lia

Perfection growled at the mans words, they almost made her blood boil to a point that she would have lashed out and rip him to shreds. As much as she would like to, however, that would make her frowned upon; if the man was here to help, surely the Commander would like to see how useful he could be. Still, she raised a claw, flames suddenly bursting alight around it. She was about to give the man a warning shot until she heard the command to stand down, which made her growl mentally.

She let the flames die and leaned back into a squatting position, not moving from where she was, only glareing suspiciously at the man that stood before the Patrol. She once again growled "If there is one thing I hate, it's cocky bastards. But...if the Commander sees your good enough for this Patrol, who am I to argue? I'll let it slide....for now" she said in a low and threatening voice before remaining quiet.

It was then Lia Sunblade came running as quickly as she could in her own heavy armor and tapped Perfection on the shoulder. The Assassin looked up at the woman and saw her mouth something 'Come with me quickly' is what she interpreted and quickly followed the Sin'dorei to a pile of rocks where a light well had been placed. Perfection needed something to ease her pain right now, but before she reached for the lightwell, Lia raised her arm to stop her.

She looked at the woman with a confused look until she noticed she was staring at something with in the pile of rubble. She followed her gaze and try to hold back a cry of sorrow as she saw it was a hand, who's hand it was...that was what she dreaded. Lia sighed and pulled off her helm and dropped it to the floor before flinging out her long black hair "I need your help to remove the rubble....we can't just leave them like this" she said in a low voice before she reached to remove a rock from the rubble. Perfection swallowed the lump that was in her neck, and started to help her.

With Perfection useing her new Earth Claws, and with Lia useing ruins that she attached to her gloves (what they were, Perfection did not know), the two had managed to remove the rocks off of the body. Perfection tried her best to hold back tears as she saw who it was "Fayth..." she muttered before she suddenly turned away and moved off, where she squated down and was sick, bringing up what ever was in her gut. Lia sighed and moved over to the Kal'dorei priestess' side, making sure that her eyes were closed before she lifted the woman with ease from the horrid tomb that she had been enclosed in.

She walked over to where the body of the Nerubiean, Clicker, also laid. She gently set the woman down and went back to get her helm. Once she did, she went back over before resting a gentle hand on the woman's fore head. She began to murmur something, words that the Kal'dorei would have said to farewell their dead. She had learned these when she was imprisoned by them, and she remembered how sad it was. Perfection had stopped being sick and walked over to the Commander and waited until she wasn't busy.

If she wasn't she would move to her side and quickly murmur that they had found Fayth's body. It seemed the Patrol had suffered heavy casualties, yet gained some respectful allies in the process. In a way, Perfection shouldn't be so worried, but it was all to much, the death of allies was something that took a heavy tole on the girls heart and spirit. She remembered Dareth telling her something when she was little and found a freshly dead bird.

Dareth smiled and place one hand over the bird and another under the girls small hands, encloseing them around them. He looked at the girl with a warm look and said "You should not be sad at times like this, death is the natural way of life. What nature made, will return to nature in body, while the Spirit flys away to eternal happiness". He took the bird and rested it down by a tree before pulling out a small vial and pulling off the stopper, of which he would pour the contents over the bird. Roots and vines would suddenly begin to wrap around the bird and pull it under "And what returns to it strength"

Perfection let out a small sniffle, but did very little else after that. She waited for the Commander's response there after.
Lynara had made her way back to the camp. She didn’t want to inform the commander of the bad news regarding the fate of two of the patrol members while the gnome was so injured. She sat down, still nursing her injured ribs. Fayth had mended most of them, but not all. The careless elf then went and got her self killed. She wanted to be angry, but she could not.

She felt something else instead of anger. She felt remorse, sorrow for those who had died. Clicker, the kind hearted Nerubian, and Fayth, the elf who re inspired her from despair on the sandbar. That inspiration was all but spent now. They were out manned, out armed, and out maneuvered by what ever they were suppose to be going up against. Worse of all they were in some Goddess forsaken earth plane where her bow and arrow were nearly useless.

The part that was even worse than everything else. She could not feel Elune’s light in this… Deepholm. She could not see the moon, nor feel the loving light of the Moon goddess on her in this place. “We should not linger here.” She said as she stood up and looked around. There were new people now, ones she did not recognize. The commander was bloody, but alive and they seemed to have found a few long lost members of the patrol, one of which she had hoped would remain lost.

Luck as it was, was not favoring this crew of would be heroes branded traitor. In her mind the patrol had about as much chance of being redeemed in the eyes of the horde and alliance as a snowballs chance in the Firelands. Every once in a while, the impossible can happen. Lynara though to herself as she remembered of how she had survived the shattering.

She had nearly been sucked down the river by the sheer current as the land heaved. The tower she was in was the first thing to collapse as Auberdine was torn asunder by the cataclysm. All of Darkshore was coming apart in Xaxas wake. Lynara was clinging onto a fallen tree branch; the taste of salt water filled her mouth as the sea was rushing into fill the chasm’s that were birthed by the cataclysm.

Soon the tree branch snapped and she was carried down the stream, jagged rocks cut into the exposed parts of her body as she was rushed through a new raging river. She struggled to keep her head above the water. Eventually she was dragged to a sheer drop, one that did not exist prior to the cataclysm. It took all her strength to grasp onto one of the rocky out crops before the fall into a small Maelstrom below.

The waters raged below, anything that fell in did not surface, making Lynara wonder how deep it truly went into the earth. Her thought would have to wait as her grip began to loosen, she tried not to panic but knowing that falling in would be a one way trip she could not help but scream.

Then her grip failed her and she began to fall. Within a few seconds of her beginning to fall everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Knowing that she was going to drown in this chasm was not a comforting idea. The raging waters were approaching fast


She felt herself freefalling to her death, the churning waters below promised a horrid demise as she was smashed into Elune only knows how many razor sharp rocks before her body would be discarded in whatever abyss this enraged water was heading for. She closed her eyes awaiting the inevitable as the water was getting closer.

Just before she reached the raging surface a pair of talons grasped into her arms stopping her decent with her foot barely touching the raging surface. She looked up at her savior, only to see it was a hippogryph with no rider. Exhaustion took over and she passed out.

She awoke some time later, she could not tell how long she had been out when she noticed her head was restingon something firm yet soft. She opened her eyes to see the face of Feathertalon looking at her. The intelligent beast had been following her in the air since Aberdine but could not get to her earlier. She laid her head against the beast’s flank and drifted back to sleep.

Lynara opend her eyes. She was still in Deepholm. “I would rather be dragged down a raging river than be stuck in this place.” She muttered as she stood up to face those who were coming back. She kept an arrow notched just in case any of them got the stupid idea to attack the members of the patrol.

Vimmi pressed her fingers into her temple, before sighing. “Start by tending to the wounded,” she spoke up at Fenris, “You start agitating my soldiers, you're out. The Horde and the Alliance... and the otherwise, are equals here. I want nothing but acceptance between any of the members of my group. If I see hostile action, you better watch out.” With that final comment, the Gnome pushed past the others towards the dead that were being lined up.

“This applies to you too...” she looked up at 'The Einherjar.' “Nothing but tolerance and restraint in my Patrol. I am your Commander and you will do as I say without question. Gather the wounded and the dead, we're going to make the trek to the Temple to recoup from this attack. If you want any explanations, they will have to be said as we are walking... now go.”

“Clicker... Faythalla...” Vimmi spoke solemnly aloud as she paced past each body lined up, some gracefully dead... some a little more messy. It was now that Virella returned, carrying the body of Minxy which she laid down on the ground next to the others. Everything was a mess... Vimmi scolded her mind and tried to stop her brain leading her down those paths of despair.

“There may be a powerful mage at this Temple. We will have Clicker and Faythalla's bodies returned to Dalaran, Minxy to Orgrimmar.” She lowered her head briefly, before raising it and thinking carefully for a long moment. Clicker was actually quite large and heavy, “Those with mounts,” she eyed those particular ones with dragons, “Which of you are willing to bear the dead to the Temple?” she asked.

Virella wandered somewhere amidst the group, she had drawn her hood over her face to the point of appearing little more than a shadow. Stash too was similar in his self seclusion but he has full to bear in his image of a little green goblin with standard little goblin clothes on. He had found a place near the bodies, and now looked dismally down at Minxy.

“Such a pity...” he muttered, kneeling down and brushing a particularly cliched strand of hair from her face, before standing once more.

Vimmi gave the order to move out once the dead were secure and the wounded capable of moving, either on one of the large beasts of burden, or on beds born by the party. She did not intend to leave the dead behind unless that was the only choice they had. Vimmi kept an eye on the newcomers, and those she believed were close to the dead. Her Patrol had taken a beating today, but they would muscle through... they would live it out, and continue to fight.

Sacrifices had to be made...
Grish sighed, looking at the bodies. Too many had gone, fallen to the ship crash or the worms or something else entirely. Even more were lost before this, some still with an unknown fate. He sighed heavily, thinking. 'I didn't know many of them long, but I will remember them.' His mind then turned to a poem he had once read; 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'. One repetitive line stuck out at him as he gazed at the fallen form of the priestess Faythalla-'Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'
'Rage against what? There is nothing left, only the ashes of what once was.'
But from death, comes new life. You of all people should know this. Let her not have died in vain, or unforgotten. Vi's words broke the sense of futility the druid had been feeling. Her voice was different from what it normally sounded like; it held the weight of years, the knowledge of one who had known many that passed, leaving her behind.
She did everything she could. They all did. None of them gave up, no matter what happened. You can't just quit, not now.
'I know. But, everyone needs time for themselves, even just a few moments. I took them to look upon what has happened.'
And of the moments taken for others? Vi inquired.
'Those you take to look at what may be, and work toward it.' Grishmak replied, before turning to Vimmi. "I'll take Fayth to the Temple. I'll contact the Circle, make sure she..." He trailed off for a moment, before resuming "Make sure they all get home." He glanced at the bodies one last time before making his way to camp, intending to heal the injured.
'Only once the living are tended to can the dead be respected.' He thought, a comment which Vi agreed with.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sairdna made her way back to the others, drained of emotion. 'What now? How should we go on, with so many dead, or missing?' She wondered, eyes bright with unshed tears. Looking around, the mage spotted a long spear of metal lying on the ground. It looked familiar. She bent down, grabbing the metal rod and inspecting it, before realizing what it was.
'Oh, right. That Nerubian.' She thought, not surprised that the parts had been stripped off of it. 'Need everything we can get, after all.' She thought, feeling only bone-dragging weariness.
Staring at the metal rod for a moment, the mage suddenly came up with an idea. She reached into her black sleeves, frowning in concentration, before coming up with a few spare parts, her gnomish army knife, and a bright red gem. She quickly made a mount for the crystal, attached to the top of the metal rod. The crystal slid into the hastily-created mount, the gem flaring for a moment before becoming seemingly dull, lifeless.
She stared at the newly-created staff for a moment, before another idea hit her. She quickly carved the word Memory into the crystal, at the base where it connected to the rest of the staff.
'Yes, that will work.' She thought, the plan already unfolding in her head. It would retain a simple look, an iron-colored staff topped by a red crystal named Memory. Around it four other crystals would float, two purple and two blue, leashed by magic. Their names would be Thought, Feeling, Hopes and finally Dreams.
'From memory the four spring. I won't forget any of the Patrol, no matter what.'
Sai nodded, satisfied with her plans. She walked over to the small camp, sitting and beginning to work on a new project, her new, simple staff at her side.
12/22/2011 12:09 PMPosted by Ashok
“You really should listen more instead of act like the rogue over here, blustering only gets you so far in life…” Malak’s voice was quiet, deadly and sarcastic; he was trying to goad those two into attacking him, just to see what would happen.

The warrior grins at his words; the whole time she's been sizing him up and peering into the very depths of his perceived consciousness through clouds of acrid smoke billowing from her nostrils and lit cigarette. Did he seriously think she was that dumb? Unlike the rogue she was fond of chiding, Lowmaine's been on enough battlefields to smell traps miles away merely by intuition alone, and this one smelled real textbook to her. Oh, this would be fun indeed. The dull pounding in coming from the shoulder of her shield-arm was fading, and all throughout her head the haze of battle lust was beginning to creep in. The gyreworms hadn't agitated it. The gyreworms were child's play to a warrior like her; fit for a diversion at best and a disappointing climax at worst like so many one-night stands in bars across Azeroth, or skirmishes with the enemy that ended before the going got good.

But here, she found what may or may not be something worth going all-out against.

She idly starts playing with Clicker's "leg," dismantling it and re-attaching and re-wiring her gauntlet with her free hand, making the device better, stronger and amplified...all without the proper safety precautions she had set up so precariously years before. She was through caring about how "safe" the device was; to her it was a weapon, much like her own body. It was an extension of her will and of her prowess; not to say she was dependent on the piece of technology, but the warrior knew above all, every advantage in battle could allow you to see another sunrise...even if it put you in harm's way to do so. Mathematics dances in her head and wires become melded into the circuitry they once called home. Soon, the Tazik Shocker is done, and it's a half-more powerful thanks to her idle tweaking, as well as containing a nifty little function she's wanted to add to it for some time...

She hears the Commander's order to move out and removes a healing injector from her belt and stabs it directly into her shield-arm's shoulder, feeling the liquid immediately set to work repairing the damage to her bones. She was going to need to be tip-top from here on; tip top and professional...just like she always was. But she was going to have some fun before she went professional, at least for now.

She brushes by the offending worgen warrior, ignoring the other worgen Death Knight completely, and mutters lowly so only the two of them can hear, "That's a real nice suit of armor ya got there, pup...nice runes on 'em shoulders."

She claps her metal-covered hand on one of his shoulderguards and slowly and surely, pats it gently. All the while a small whining noise can be heard emanating from her Shocker. All the while a sick, sick grin lives on her face. "Color me..." her voice deepens to the point of being nearly a whisper. "Interested. If Commander says you're golden for now, then you're as good as a sack o' coin to me. Step outta line..." the whining intensifies slightly. "And I might just see how burnt dog hair smells."

The whining noise ceases and the gauntlet is removed from his shoulderguard. She shoulders fully past him and murmurs, all while still grinning "Seeya around pup."

The mage's glowing eyes kept locked with the dark warrior; he could tell the stranger was focusing on him for a moment. Though he held precaution he didn't surrender an inch of land to the strange worgen and stood stagnantly. Still, with most of their patrol injured or dead the mage was still ready to defend the others should this strange man attack; Alvanar's guttural growls from beside him signaling the dragon's wariness as well. If this man truly was despicable enough to attack them while they were tending to their wounded the mage would not hold his power back. As much as he detested fighting unfairly he knew Alvanar would willingly charge into the fray with him. He had fought and killed his share of death knights in Northrend but they were still no less of a danger.

Thankfully it seemed the worgen was not complete scum and, for the moment, declared he was here to join the patrol. To say the mage doubted those words would be a great understatement but if a fight could be avoided he decided to play along. Patting Alvanar's neck softly, the drake turned its head to him, "Lor'dinan?" it spoke.

"Stand down, Al. There's no present threat.. for the moment." he turned toward the death knight again before another voice broke the silence; yet another death knight worgen approaching them.

Turning toward this newcomer, the mage listened as his Vimmi spoke to him and the other first. Letting her finish the mage nodded and follow with Alvanar behind him.


Varonus finished loading on another body to Al's back; with him riding he only had room for three bodies and one other passenger if they wished to come with him. Turning toward the group the mage scanned over everyone there, searching for injured, "If there is someone who feels they can't make the trip to the temple on foot Alvanar has room for one more passenger," at that the drake turned its head and nudged Varonus's side, "Lor'dinan; perhaps you should stay with the group. I can take two wounded and these bodies to the temple while you move with the others; you're among the least injured here."

Thinking a moment, the elf turned to Vimmi, "Its your call, Commander, would you have me stay with you on foot or have me meet you at the Temple?"
Waraila listened as Vimmi faced down Fenris, as she used her skills in medicine to bind the gnome's injuries... well tried to bind the gnomes injuries. She knew quite well how stubborn Spannershield was when it came to being tended after battle. Even so, she did the best she could under the circumstances whilst also using minor healing to hopefully speed along the mending of the more serious wounds. How much that would do though was in the Earthmother's hands.

She was grateful that Varonus had lent her some strength to be able to continue her work too, whilst she hadn't said anything to the mage, being too busy to tend to her friend, it was unspoken gratitude.

Still as she listened to the confrontation, she heard the underlying tone of Fenris's voice, his reactions to other members of the patrol. 'A braggart... and overconfident too.. ' she thought to herself, although she made no actual comments, preferring to study this human... or at least she thought he was human anyway. She hadn't seen him in his alternate form. Still she resolved to keep an eye on this newcomer, to observe and try to figure out why he wanted to join the patrol.

Something about him made her instinctively distrust the man... what that was she couldn't say, but looking at him she felt a sense of .. foreboding? She didn't know, but she would watch, and see.. and hope her misgivings were just the distrust stemming from the last series of battles and the lingering distrust she had of any of the Alliance races since Taurajo.

With Vimmi pushing herself away from her, to talk to the other newcomer, Waraila turned to glance at the Wyvern nearby. Without a word, and still keeping Fenris in the periphery of her vision she began to examine the beasts side and wing, shaking her head as she did so. “Those are pretty nasty.. “ she murmured as she tried her best to heal the worst of the injuries, once again feeling the strain of the past few days and once again silently thanking Varonus for the strength he had given her. “I would not like to see you grounded again.... you belong in the sky my friend.. “ she remembered how long it had taken Verra to recover from her near death in Borean Tundra... and how long it had taken her wings to recover. She wondered if she had been able to fly with Dren'gork once again before he had been slain.

“I've done the best I can Verra.. you'll unfortunately have to take it easy for a while.. “ she said eventually as she finished doing what she could. “I don't think I can heal much more, and I'd rather save my strength in case it's needed... “ she glanced over to where the rest of the injured were, knowing that this was going to be a long journey to the temple... maybe not in distance or time, but in making sure no-one else died.
Malak listened and watched; it was the way he had been taught by a man now long dead. It was both a gift and a curse that he was so skilled in combat and such a bloodthirsty warrior. He nodded as the Commander told him to tend to the wounded and before he could move he was standing before the human warrior who had faced down the charging gyre-worm. He listened and smiled as she spoke to him, the whirring of her gauntlet making his grin all the wider. He let her pass him without any more trouble and then turned to regard the Tauren druid who was now healing a wyvern. He stepped forward and waited till she was done speaking with the wyvern, whose name was apparently Verra. When she was finished he pulled his helmet from his head and revealed his shaggy black hair and eyes. “Tell me who you want me to begin working on. I can perform minor surgeries and get the blood to cease flowing from their bodies for now but I will need a far more sterile environment than this to fully patch some of these injured up.”

Malak’s voice was cool and collected, sounding the part of the unconcerned doctor. He didn’t know these people, didn’t know the dead who were arrayed in lines and being piled on the mounts. Nor did Malak really care about the dead, an old adage that had been repeated by the Company when men died came to mind: ‘Soldiers live and wonder why.’ It was a fitting phrase, even though Malak knew each member of the Company it was a fact of war that men died. To grieve and mourn the loss of life when it was a given fact men would die did nothing but bring suffering. Malak had learned long ago that life had enough suffering in it without adding to that suffering. So he waited for Waralia to respond to his query and tell him to begin with, seeing as the druid was tired already he probably would have to start with those who were severely injured.

Malak sighed thinking about that, his skills were great but he wasn’t a true healer. He was a field surgeon, a simple warrior who could stitch up wounds and plug arteries. A lot of them probably would require the skills of a healer and Malak simply wasn’t capable of doing that, he could make them feel better; slow their dying but actually saving their lives was not his domain. Malak let his gaze rove over the group as he saw how battered and tired they were, they had been through a lot but could also tell they were capable of taking much more. Malak would see just how far they could be pushed; hoping that maybe one of them or one of the enemies brought against them would truly test his strength. ‘Through victory, my chains are broken…’ Malak said as a prayer, hoping that it would prove true.
"Wait a minute, I don't want to-" Turle tried to voice his protest to Faythalla as the Night Elf began clawing inside his mind trying to force him to sleep. Pfft, she's lucky I"m in such a state or I'd kick her purple little.. The Gnome's last thought interrupted as darkness settled in.


Turle's eye slowly opened and he found the "nightmare" was actually reality. The proof being the sky loitered with clusteres of large rocks. "Damn.." A single word muttered as the Gnome fought to lift himself into an upright position. Destruction was all around him, pieces of the ship they had rode in on, pieces of the ship they had crashed into. Luckily there were no pieces of him lying about to add to the mess.

The next thing the warrior noticed was the odd silence. Was he not surrounded by Waraila, Kreska, and a few other patrol members moments ago? How long did that stupid elf put him to sleep for?! More importantly, where the hell did everyone else go? A roll of his shoulders answered his own question, Vimmi wouldn't have left him behind, they were probably all nearby gathering up supplies or something.

With a sigh, the Gnome lifted himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness instantly hit him and he nearly toppled backwards back to the ground but found his footing in the last moment. "Next time, Waraila's healing me.." His head nodded to confirm his own statement.

Now that he was all sorted out, Turle felt his best option would be..finding a weapon. Oh how the warrior mind works when in a pinch. He managed a small grin as he trudged through the wreckage of both ships in search of a blade or even something as simple as a stick. If it could inflict pain, it was good enough for him.

As the Gnome went searching through the wreckage and the countless bodies of what had to be cultists and the crew of the Alliance ship, he decided to entertain himself with a song.

"Warrior-ing, warrior-ing, there's much fun to be had in warrior-ing!
Especially if you're a Gnome!
The people, they underestimate you, and quite frankly have no clue
that when facing a Gnome, it's best to keep him in view
'cause when the sharp bite of pain registers in you brain
you've probably already lost your leg!
Ah yes, cut you down to size, just to stare you in the eyes
When you see this face, you see your demise.
We're deadly and dangerous even if we're not so tall
One mistake and you'll end up losing your ba--"

Unfortunately, this is where the song ends because an interruption presented itself to Turle. From below, a massive rumbling followed by the eruption of the earth beneath him that sent the Gnome flying quite a distance away. He landed with a thud on his backside and was up on his feet within an instant. His eye narrowed to the cloud of debris that masked whatever had come up from beneath the ground, or it did until the gyreworm lifted up even higher.

...Was my singing that bad?

Turle stood frozen for a moment beholding the sight before him. Was it fear that gripped the tiny warrior, was his body unable to move in the presence of such a giant foe? The answer itself was a twisted grin that stretched along his features. Thanks to Faythalla, he was patched up and felt better than ever! His eye quickly searched the area nearby and found a piece of plank suitable enough to wield.

He flipped it once, twice, in his hands before hoisting it up to his shoulder and started to move in the direction of the large worm. For some reason, it wasn't even facing his direction, as if it was after some other target all together. Could it be..the rest of the patrol? Serves 'em right for ditching him..then again, Vimmi was over there..somewhere.

Sighing, he was about to go charging in when there was more rumbling similar to the previous. More gyreworms exploded through the surface of the ground to join the first in the attack. "That's better! The odds might've just slightly tipped out of my favor!"

Turle howled in glee and was quickly closing the ground between himself and the creatures of churning rock and metal. As the distance was closed, he finally started to notice that there were indeed people attacking the worms. Two birds with one stone, find the patrol, find smething to vent anger on!

His fingers curled tightly around the plank of wood as he came up to the first creature within his reach and delivered a smashing blow to it's.."lower..lower back". The churning metal and rock pretty much oblitered the piece of wood on first contact. The sheer force of the impact and the whirling torrent that was the creature's body sent the Gnome flying down to his backside again.

"Hah! Odds are tipping again, back to me!" He roared while rising to his feet. His fists were clenched and he brandished them at the back of the creature waving them wildly. "My deadliest weapons yet!"

What are my legs, if not coils to launch me into battle even faster. My arms are the gears of the machine of war that never ceases. My fists? The mounted laser on the machine of war that cuts through everything with relative ease!

It was probably for the best that Virella had summoned some crazy blood gyreworm abomation thing to aid in combat and was taking on most of the creature's with it. Even so, Turle managed to launch himself onto the back of one of the worms and started hammering it with his fist only resulting in bloodying up his hands in the process.

The Gnome decided it was best to jump "ship" when Virella's monstrous creation starrted to rip and tear the other worms apart dragging them back down to the ground. He landed not far off and casually walked up towards where the rest of the patrol were. A simple wave thrown in the direction of Lowmaine, a wink over at Waraila, and then he came to Vimmi.

"Investigation complete. We appear to be in some kind of rocky place. There's alot of rocks."

Both Sylvanora and Kethrilk remained silent as Vimmi clambered to her feet and addressed the newcomers despite her injuries, the night elf becoming more irritated at the behaviour of the Patrol’s warriors and the arakkoa watching as more corpses were pulled in and lined up with each passing moment. Although neither of them knew any of Meep’s current crew other than those of the old guard they had spotted so far, it was still disappointing to see anyone fighting for your cause to fall.

Sylvanora took particular note when the carapace of the nerubian she had ‘met’ earlier was brought in, shaking her head. The Borean Patrol had always been an odd bunch, so after getting over the initial shock of seeing him she had decided that she wanted to learn more about the spider-mage when she got the chance. Now it looked like that would never happen.

Kethrilk clicked his beak a number of times when the last body was gingerly laid down, his feathers twitching as he gathered his thoughts and kept his grip on the squirming bag of shale spiders. “May whatever gods they believe in watch over them, but after a crash like that this was bound to happen, pah…

When the warrior he was been stood near moved over to Waraila and asked how he could help, the talon priest cocked his head to the side and made a confused croaking sound. A fighter who had bothered to learn first aid? It was almost appalling! Not in a bad way however – now that he thought of it, Kethrilk was surprised that there weren’t more warriors out there who chose to educate themselves in the ways of tending wounds, especially when a small patch-up could mean the difference between life and death.

As he followed behind, the arakkoa made a mental note that he would have to keep an eye on this one, it looked promising.

“Same here, rawk!” he held up the rucksack and clicked his beak, puffing up his crest feathers, “I’ve got some elemental critters here that I can use to help patch people up.”

If looks could kill, Lowmaine would have been reduced to a smouldering pile of ash by the glare that Sylvanora shot into her back as she swaggered past the pair of newcomers. Yes, there were bound to be clashing personalities in a group like this, but the way some of them were acting was just plain rude: if any of her Windlancers had acted like that they would’ve been put on ‘splat-scraping duty’ in a heartbeat. The night elf decided to keep her opinion to herself for now: Vimmi was in a bad way, and with so many deaths that was probably mentally as well as physically, so now was definitely not the time to go up to her to discuss anything.

Instead Sylvanora busied herself with flying back to camp, where Barthius had finally gotten back onto his mount, and after discussing what had happened (Sylvanora said that she’d tell Kethrilk that he had been tending to the wounded rather than flailing around like a flipped over turtle, much to the high elf’s relief) they started packing as many of the retrieved supplies as their mounts would allow them to carry. It wasn’t much though: dragonhawks aren’t exactly built to be heavy lifters, and Avielian despises being treated like a common pack mule, as anyone who had been in Northrend likely would have remembered.

“Alright, Spannershield want us heading to the Temple so that the injured can be properly attended to,” Sylvanora explained the situation to Barthius as they flew back side-by-side, “As such I’ve decided that one of us should fly ahead and let the shamans know: we can’t carry much more than this, so giving the Earthen Ring enough warning of the Patrol’s arrival should give them time to gather up their healers who aren’t already preoccupied.”

“Sounds like a good plan, any idea who you’re going to send? I wouldn’t mind going if you and Kethrilk want to catch up with everyone.”

They landed at about the same time that Varonus had finished prepping his drake, and once on firm ground, Sylvanora replied.

“No, actually. I was planning to ask Meep once she got the chance. Ideally I would go – we haven’t seen any twilight dragons these past few days, so if I could I’d send Vearakus back to meet you guys about halfway. He can carry the wounded in a much more stable way than most.” Barthius opened his mouth as if to cut her off, but once she explained her reasoning the elf closed his eyes and nodded.

“Alright then, I’ll go up a bit and keep an eye on the surroundings in that case. We don’t want any more drama adding to what we’ve already seen today!”

“Gods yes!” Sylvanora nodded quickly, her expression saying it all in regards to just how much she agreed. Once the elf and his dragonhawk had started flying back up, she began searching through the crowd for Vimmi.
Ein loomed over the group in his spiked black armor. The gnome's words were comforting, in a way: he would not have to worry about one of the group backstabbing him in the middle of combat. He decided that ingratiating himself with the group would probably be a wise course of action, and as an extension of his will, his gryphon moved forward alongside him. Ein walked up to the leader of the Borean Patrol, waiting until she had finished her speech about treating the dead with honor. Or something like that. Ein had never really managed to get the whole “treat the dead with respect” concept down.

“My gryphon is at your disposal, Spannershield.” the Einherjar rumbled and flayed in a combination of his natural baritone and the torn voice of the Death Knights. He motioned to the skeletal flier, which had crouched down, prepared to receive the corpses. “And my condolences for your loss.” That less-than-pleasant, if necessary, courtesy out of the way, Ein moved towards what would probably be a kindred spirit: the worgen warrior that had been such an integral part of taking down the gyreworm. The female human was probably just as good, but he had seen her kind before: veterans of the battlefields of Lordaeron, the kind who most certainly did not “forgive and forget”. Besides, her face and general demeanor just screamed BAT-SH!T INSANE!!! A wise Death Knight wouldn't go anywhere near her unless forced. After all, things might get messy, and it would never do to have to explain to the commander why one of her fighters had ended up as a red smear on the ground.

After taking a few seconds to decide what the best course of action would be, Ein settled on friendly, polite, and just a bit fear-inspiring. Coming up on the Worgen, Ein was mostly unsurprised to find that he would be just as tall as the Worgen when the warrior was transformed into his true form. He was more than used to towering over pretty much any given being besides a tauren. And when his Saronite armor was on, as it always was, the height advantage only grew more pronounced. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Hello.” he said to the warrior. “Call me Ein. I have to admit, your little display with the gyreworm was rather impressive, if a bit unrefined. And what might your name be?” While he was talking, he let a slight aura of red-tinged frost surround him. A little intimidation never hurt, after all. There might be some time in the future when their fear would be useful. And from prior experience, he knew that the frost mist coupled with his Scourge Champion armor was very intimidating indeed.
Waraila ignored Fenris whilst she dealt with Verra's injuries, not with the intention of being rude, but more due to concentrating on her task at hand. It was only when she was finished that he actually spoke to her. That raised her estimation of the human slightly... he had the sense not to interrupt a healer when she was at work.

As she listened to his question she nodded slightly. “Yes, we have a few injured although I have no idea how much Fayth managed to accomplish before she was slain. Unfortunately we have few supplies to treat what wounded we have. The Naga attack a few days ago that sank our ship saw to that... and we didn't have chance to salvage anything from the mercenaries ship before we ended up here … “ the druidess glanced briefly at the wreck of the sailing ship and gunship. “I would just pick whoever looks the worst off and do what you can... “ she sighed.

For now, she would give this human a chance, despite his initial bluster towards some of the members of the Patrol. Spannershield had accepted him and she would give Fenris a chance, despite her unease around him.

“Whilst there's little time, I am known as Waraila.” she introduced herself simply and was about to move away from Verra to check on others when Kethrik approached her. She smiled faintly at the sight of the birdman knowing that they were a very rare sight outside of Draenor.

“Kethrik, am I glad to see you... “ she spoke to him with clear relief in her tone of voice. Whilst it was something she hadn't thought possible, she had come to respect the talonpriest in her time in Northrend with the patrol. One thing though puzzled her with his words “I'm not sure how elementals can help you heal.. unless you've been called along the path of a shaman since I last saw you, but I'd be glad for whatever help you can give to the injured..” she indicated those still in the camp.

“I think there's still a few with broken bones, possibly internal injuries but I can't be sure. Nor do I know how much both Fayth and Grish have managed to heal so far... I was busy tending to Alistair.” she indicated the death knights still form, more convinced now that she had been too late to help him. “There is little I can do, other than conserve my strength in case of an emergency now... “ she sighed. Kethrik was also one of the few she trusted with her life and she had no misgivings about admitting how spent she was to him.

It was foolish to push herself to collapse, especially with so far yet to go. As she was about to start helping prepare the injured to be moved, she noticed the impending confrontation between Fenris and this strange Death knight who, she had to admit, was larger than most humans.

“Peace..” Waraila spoke quietly as she moved near to Ein and Fenris. “There's enough work to be done here without causing ….. problems... “ she glanced down at the two men, although she was wary of the undead one... like all his kind. If he was about to cause problems then she would have no choice but to deal with it... after all Spannershield was too severely injured to take care of it herself... well at least Waraila thought that was the case.. She wouldn't dare tell that to Vimmi's face in front of everyone though and risk undermining her friend's authority. “If you have enough strength then help with securing people to be moved to the temple.... we don't want to attract more denisens of this place to us.”

With that she moved away, a quick glance towards Vimmi gave her the impression that her friend was near breaking point, but with so much to be done and the distance to travel.. there was little she could do to ease the gnome's mind. Maybe once they ended up at the Temple things would look brighter.. . Despite their losses.

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