Wildfire Riders

((This is going to be a collection of RP logs, random posts, and other various things that I feel like throwing here. There will be overall edits to most of the RP for consistency and spelling.

It's all post-Wrathgate, and been about 2 months in the planning. ))

Adel and Grigori

Tryston says:
The directions in it were brief, but the heavy wax seal, emblazoned with a large, ornate crest, implied that someone of some sort of importance wished to speak with her.
For it's part, Duskwood was a depressing place, all mist and fog and gloom. The fields were pitiful reminders of the once lush farmland that had fed the ancient kingdom, before the Horde and the Scourge came. Wolves howled from from the dark forests, and the lights were always lit in the homes of the farmers and rugged hillsmen that eked out a living here.
Falkala says:
Adel's horned horse plodded boredly, head low. Adel was riding sidesaddle, hair brushed and robes freshly pressed and washed. Her goggles hung lazily around her neck, looking out of place on a woman who looked like she had been living the cozy life for the last few days.

The directions had been clear enough, but the summons were suspicious. She guided her mount up the pathway to the farms.
Falkala says:
"Don't know anyone out this way, Ped, do we?" Adel murmured to her horse. The horse snorted, likely from dust and not for a reply.
Tryston says:
The house had clearly seen better days, looking more like a shack compared to the more grand manse that occupied the property a small orchard away. The wood was weathered, the paint peeling, and the gate looked like it had been a chewtoy for wargs. But the light inside was a cheerful, warm brilliance, and the crests mounted above the door matched the ones attached to her letter.
Falkala says:
Dismounting, Adel led her steed past the gate to a hitching post that appeared to be held together by the ivy that strangled it. She tied the reins loosely, patting Ped's snout and moving to the door.

Inhaling and holding a breath, she reached and knocked three times.
Tryston says:
"A minute, just a minute!" The clank and rattle of many locks preceded the door's opening, a pair of bright blue eyes shining cheerfully in the light of the lantern held in a massive, gnarled fist. "Hmm. Was expecting you somewhat sooner, little lady. But nothing to do about it, you're here now. Come in, come in!"
Falkala says:
Adel opened her mouth to say something either in her defense, or confused, but no words came out. She walked in, lacking the grace and poise of a woman in robes like hers should have. "Erm. Hello."
Tryston says:
The inside of the house was the opposite of the beaten exterior, well kept and tidy, though cluttered with the relics of past ages. In the corner, an ornate set of armor, on the wall, a series of swords and maces, each carrying the mark of the Old Kingdom of Stormwind. Over the hearth, a ragged and mildly burnt orcish banner, while several orc and troll skulls adorned the mantle. "I apologize, only just making the evening tea, but there's some fresh bread and some cold stew that I can put on in a moment. Have a seat, have a seat young woman."
Falkala says:
Adel moved to one of the chairs, sitting down with a straight posture, almost as if she were about to stand up. She stared about the room at the objects, then back to the man moving about. "Thank you, uh sir..." She trailed off, in hopes of having him pick up the hint to give her his name.
Tryston says:
Ignoring her somewhat, the old man poured water into a beaten teapot, before putting a pot over the small fire, squinting into the black cauldron before tamping a lid over it. He poured tea into unusually fine cups, the sparkling white porcelain trimmed with gold and silver, intricate designed painted in the old blue and yellow. "Now then, Adel Ashawe. I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Grigori Sul. And I suppose your questions are going to start there."
Falkala says:
Adel shifted in her seat, suddenly the many trophies were less important than the old-bear of a man nearby. "You are... related to Dravir, then?" She asked, starting her questions with that one.
Tryston says:
Eyes sparkling, he sat down, and took up his tea, blowing over the hot drink. "Aye. That pup is my grandson. Takes after my profession, he does, though I've not heard from him in a while. But let us leave talk of him for a while yet. I am sure you wish to know why I asked you to come here?"
Falkala says:
Adel nodded, taking the tea in her hands. She didn't drink it yet. "I am."
Tryston says:
He smiled over his cup, before setting it down. "Well, my dear, I'm old enough to remember the day you were borne. Your mother was damned proud to have another daughter, though I am sure it caused your father no end of grief. When you first came to Stormwind and enrolled within the priesthood, I watched you take your vows." Grigori chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Seems to me though, that you've lost your way a bit. Wanted to make sure you're keeping your feet on the ground, so to speak."
Falkala says:
"I see where Dravir gets it from." Adel said, sounding more mournful than spiteful. She put the tea down and folded her hands, chin on them, elbows on knees. "Things didn't exactly go the way they should have."
Tryston says:
"Things rarely do, little one, they rarely do. It was a lesson my generation, and your mothers, learned the hard way." The old man sipped his tea, gesturing around to the various trophies and items that adorned the room. "We'd not have called it the Age of Chaos otherwise, eh? And do not look so glum. Life happens, Adel. It is our course to go with what it throws at us, sometimes."
Falkala says:
"Life's thrown a lot, real fast. But..." Adel looked around the room. "I'm sure you are no stranger to that. Or a stranger to feeling overwhelmed." It was clear by her tone and decrease in volume that she was trailing off with keen interest in the set of armor in the corner.
Tryston says:
Grigori smiled, following her gaze across the room. "Like that one, eh? Haven't worn it in years. Doubt the bucket of bolts even still fits." He chuckled, patting an ample paunch. "Took me through the First and the Second, it did. Back when there were no paladins, just the knights and local cavalry."
Falkala says:
"I heard stories from the veterans in my town, but never got a clear picture of what they must have looked like, during the war." Adel looked back to Grigori. "How did you all pull through?"
Tryston says:
"Luck, my girl. Sheer luck, and good leadership. When the first rumours of orcs began to spread, I was already a man past his prime, over forty, and quite ready to begin relinquishing the rulership of the estate to my son, Dravir's father. I remember the first time I fought the greenskins, about a days ride south of here. Nearly crapped myself. Dark days, those were. Only thing that kept us going was that indomitable bastard, Lothar. Orcs could have kicked him in the nethers, and he'd just smile and kick back. Only time I saw him in despair was when we lost the King, and the old capital."
Falkala says:
"That's why the blow in Wrathgate last week shook us so badly." Adel said, picking up the tea again. "We lost the Highlord, and he'd been the beacon of light that entire battle." She leaned back into the chair, glancing up. "Everyone is reeling, right now."
Tryston says:
Grigori nodded, steepling his fingers, elbows braced on the table. "Word is already spreading about that. A true pity... not many of that line left. He was another Lothar, and he will be sorely missed."
Falkala says:
"I was told, that when his shield was brought to the king, he fell to his knees and wept." Adel said softly, trying to read Grigori's face. "... You knew my mother?"
Tryston says:
"Aye, I knew Meridian. Met her back when my company first crossed to Lordaeron, when Lothar summoned all those who would take up the mantles as paladins. A bright young woman, stubborn and headstrong. Skilled healer, but with a dark streak that sometimes made her a terror in battle. Shame women were not allowed to be paladins at the time, or she'd have made a fierce one."
Falkala says:
"What sort of dark streak?" Adel asked, sitting up, blinking curiously. "I'm afraid what I know of my mother before I was born is... well. It mostly came in scoldings of not being the calm serene person she was."
Tryston says:
Grigori frowned, taking up his teacup again, the delicate porcelain at odds with the gnarled fingers. "Ah yes. Good old Samuel."
He sipped, his face speculative. "Fiery temper sometimes, she had. About as much respect for her commanders as they'd earned, no more. A fine looking woman, well skilled in the healing art and the ways of priestly combat, as insufficient as they were back then."
Falkala says:
"I guess we weren't so unalike as I was told." Adel smiled slightly. "Only in that... she made it as a priest. Samuel always acted like she walked on air." There was humor in her tone, but her expresson made a distaste for Samuel clear.
Tryston says:
"Hmph. Now that's some bad blood, I see." Grigori refilled the cups, getting up to stir the stew, now starting to bubble over the small fire. "Samuel was always fascinated with your mother. I am not surprised his memories of her are fonder that the truth."
Falkala says:
Adel sighed. "I know. He made it damned clear. You'd think he loved her or something." She waved a hand dramatically. "But it's all water under the bridge now. He doesn't have anything more to teach me, as he said."
Tryston says:
Grigori raised an eyebrow, looking back at her. "Ah. So you have not heard, have you?" He settled back into his seat, staring at her soberly. "Samuel is near on his death bed. I believe he will be calling on you soon."
Falkala says:
Adel blinked, stiffening. "He.. but he's not that old. Is he? I mean, he had a limp, but he always had such energy ordering the students around." There was disbelief in her eyes, Adel fiddling with her goggles around her neck.
Tryston says:
The old man chuckled darkly, regarding his tea with a somber expression. "Your own mother would be closer to sixty than fifty now, Adel, and Samuel was her elder by a few years. He's not kept himself in the best condition. A weak heart, I am told, and many of his pupils died on the icy fields. There is only so much some men may take, and men such as us have already lost much of that price."
Falkala says:
Adel slumped in her chair, reality setting in. She looked at the near empty tea in her hand. "What makes you think he'd call on me, though?"
Tryston says:
"Despite appearances, little one, I am not so much a harmless old man." Grigori took a stack of parchment from a messy pile near the table, and set it down between them. "Your file, from when you were still with the priesthood. It is obvious that there was some.. unhappyness, mostly caused by the old man. It had been a while since we had spoken, but I felt that he needed a talking to. Suprised as I was to find him in such poor health, I gave him... some advice. No man should die with such poor things on his conscience if he does not have to."
Falkala says:
Adel leaned forward, staring at the thick file. "You... know quite a lot about me, then." She reached for a moment, then thought better of looking through it herself. "Should I go to him, without summons then?"
Tryston says:
He shook his head, and drank deep of the tea. "He will summon you. Let him do so on his own terms. You should both be more amenable to speak if that happens."
Falkala says:
Adel folded her hands again, leaning her chin into them. "I will be watching my mail, then."
Falkala says:
"Have you spoken to Dravir since..." Adel thought back. "I suppose, around the time I was expelled from the church."
Tryston says:
Grigori should his head again, frowning across at her. "No, though I know he was discharged in a bloody mess of politics, and I chided Samuel for that too. His mother worries, but a man has to find his own way in the world. He will write when he is ready."
Falkala says:
"Discharged?" Adel said, sitting up instantly into a much more befitting posture of a woman. "He was- Samuel discharged him!?"
Tryston says:
Chuckling again, Grigori went back to the stew, carefully spooning out the hearty smelling mess. "You sound so suprised. You were to be Dravir's task, turning you into the model of an obedient priest. Samuel, as you know, is hardly a forgiving figure."
Falkala says:
Adel hesitated, reality and guilt sinking in equal amounts. "I... guess I didn't consider that. No wonder he hasn't contacted me at all." She slumped into the chair.
Tryston says:
Grigori brought the stew over, taking wooden spoons from a drawer. "Dravir is a good boy, but there is a good bit of his father in him. He'll brew over this a while, but he'll find and talk to you eventually. Don't expect a terrible friendly welcome at first, though."
Falkala says:
"We weren't exactly terrible friendly with each other anyway." Adel said. "He uh... he keeps a book listing the times I got him in trouble or he got me out of trouble." She looked at the stew. "Is this another one of those 'don't seek him out, wait for him to come to you' times?"
Tryston says:
Grigori chuckled, setting his stew down again. "Perhaps. We'll see what happens with you and Samuel first, aye?"
Falkala says:
"I'm not saying I don't think you're right, but I will will be surprised if he contacts me to see me. Samuel, that is." Adel said, finally taking her stew and eating.
Tryston says:
Grigori just shook his head, and drank his tea. "I have known him nearly... hmm, nearly thirty five years now. Ever since he was a young priest, newly ordained, blessing marriages and kissing babies and whatnot. He will send word to you, have no doubt."
Falkala says:
Adel nodded, quietly eating the stew. Her eyes wandered along the various relics on the walls again, not making any attempt to hide her fascination. "Did Dravir spend much time here as a child?"
Tryston says:
"Until he was thirteen years, yes. The manse you can see from here is his father's home, my son. It was not quite so barren then, when we returned to rebuild. He did very much like to come and listen to my stories. Everything here has one, be it bright or grim, long or short."
Falkala says:
"He referred to you often, always very highly." Adel said, looking around. "... guess this puts him into perspective a bit."

abrupt end due to it being midnight.

Adel and Bishop Samuel

Falkala says:
A few days had passed since Adel had rode to Darkshire and met the grandfatherly man. He had been right, in that Samuel would ask her to come see him.

However it was with a surprise Adel read that he wanted her to come to his home, rather than where she expected him to be, the Cathedral of Light.
Falkala says:
'You should look like a lady' Brashger, the paladin she had pulled out of Wrathgate, had told her. He had taken her goggles and made her put up with his wife tying her hair back into something more proper.

During her brisk walk to Samuel's home, Adel realized she had been bossed around by a man with one arm.
Falkala says:
For possibly the first time in her life, Adel wasn't late for something involving Samuel. She knocked on the door, shuffling her feet and waiting.

She also really wanted Brashger to give her goggles back.
Tryston says:
The home was modest, as most in Stormwind were, with the exception of a young paladin and priest set on deathwatch, the latter answering the door. "Please, come in, miss. The Bishop is expecting you."
Inside, the house was mostly dark. It smelled of incense and dust, of a place that wasn't really lived in by anyone. And the oppressive feeling of death was there too, all the way down the hallway to the door.
Falkala says:
Adel walked in past the door, almost expecting to kick up clouds of dust with her boots. The thick feeling of death made her uncomfortable. "Just through that door?" She asked, glancing to the one who opened the front door for her.
Tryston says:
The young priest nodded, nervously tugging at the sides of his robes. "Yes, through that door. He doesn't have much time... the elder clerics believe a week, at best."
Falkala says:
"Thank you." Adel said, heading down the hallway. She very slowly opened the door, stomach turning with a strange feeling of guilt as she spoke. "Bishop?"
Tryston says:
The room was cluttered with the detrius of a busy life, one that had seen three wars ravage the world. Incense burned near the hearth, disguising the smell of illness and corruption. The bed in the corner was small, the man upon it seeming greatly shrunk since the last time they had met. "Come in, Adel."
Falkala says:
Adel closed the door behind her, hesitating by the doorway. "You... wished to see me?" She spoke, tone caught somewhere between curious and uncomfortable. Moving to the bed, she sat down on a nearby stool, hands folded in her lap.
Tryston says:
"Sit down, please. We have much to speak on..." his words were interrupted by a hacking cough, the liquid sound of his lungs far from healthy. "I am afraid... I have been unfair to you."
Falkala says:
Adel leaned in towards the bed, biting her lower lip. "I... did many things I am not proud of, Bishop."
Tryston says:
The old man sat up in his bed, to better regard her in the dim light. "Such is how we all go through life, I think. Were we to do less, it would not be human of us." Sighing, he lit a candle beside the bed, throwing his face and body into stark relief. Dark bags hung below his eyes, on a face that had held much more flesh scarce weeks before. Beneath the light robes he wore, he seemed skeletal his hands unsteady claws. "I am sorry, child. I placed a great many expectations on you."
Falkala says:
"I should have been able to meet them. I defied them out of spite." She said, stopping herself from calling him Bishop. "Samuel."
Tryston says:
"I am afraid that I expected you to be your mother. I saw so much of her in you, when you first came to the Church. Too much, I fear." He coughed again, the fit lasting across what may have been otherwise a long silence. When he could breathe again, he gestured to a folder, laying near the candle. "She wrote to me, often asking of you. Those are her letters, such as I have kept over the long years
Falkala says:
Adel looked over at the folder, biting her lip and reaching for it. "You... wish me to have it?"
Tryston says:
Nodding, he leaned back, eyes closed. "There is much there for you to learn of her. Much that will, I think, explain."
Falkala says:
"Samuel... I." Adel said, picking up the file. Her hands shook. She blinked a few times, hugging the papers to her chest. "I don't know what to say... thank you."
Tryston says:
The old man sighed, opening his eyes to look at her, still troubled. "I only ask two things, child. Please, forgive me for my actions. I have been a bitter old man, as I have been reminded... but I tried to do what I thought what best. I truly thought I could help. And... look kindly on your mother. You will learn things that will be hard to bear, and for that I am so sorry... but she had reason."
Falkala says:
Questions flooded Adel's mind, setting the papers aside that held the answers. She searched Samuel with her eyes, his appearance still alien to her. She reached carefully, touching his arm. "I forgive you." She said honestly. "And I am sorry. I was such a brat."
Tryston says:
Samuel smiled sadly, placing his hand over hers. "You were young, that is all. It has not been an easy life... perhaps your children will grow up, without the conflict that our generations have known."
Falkala says:
Adel gently squeezed his hand, nodding. Her expression turned rather somber, leaning in a bit towards him. "I can hope for no more for future generations."
Tryston says:
Nodding slowly, Samuel sank back into the bed. "Now I must rest, child. May the Light shine brightly on your life. Live it well and long. Even if you are not part of the Church, remember what it was that we valued, what good we seek to bring to the world. Hold true to the Light, and leave this world a better place than when you came to it."
Falkala says:
Adel swallowed again, blinking several times. She leaned in, resting her head briefly against Samuel. "Rest well, Bishop. And thank you."
Tryston says:
The wasted man nodded, already dipping back into sleep, his breathing labored and slow.
Falkala says:
The words 'goodbye' wouldn't come out of Adel's mouth. She stood slowly, jaw slack. Carefully picking up the papers, she turned to the door and left, closing it gently behind her.
Tryston says:
In the hallway, the priest and paladin still stood vigil, waiting, listening. "Does the Bishop rest?"
Falkala says:
Adel nodded, glancing back. "He does." She glanced down at the papers in her arms. "He looked calm."
Tryston says:
"He must have had something great to say to you then. He has not been calm since news of the battle at Angrathar came.." Both the young men shared a look of grief, one Adel had probably seen and worn far too often since that tragic day. "His heart could not take the shock... so many of the Churchs best and brightest fallen."
Falkala says:
"I was there." Adel said quietly. "It was something I would never wish upon anyone." She looked the two men over, getting another dose of perspective.
Tryston says:
The young paladin shook his head. "My cousin was there, with the Seventh. We've heard no word."
The priest frowned, then gestured to the sheaf of papers Adel held. "He had something for you, then?"
Falkala says:
"Yes. Letters he wished me to keep." Adel said, grip perhaps becoming too protective. She glanced at the paladin. "The Seventh are good men, I hope you receive favorable word soon."

Once again abrupt ending of 'oh hey look at the time' here.

Adel and Bricu

"Och, one moment."

Adel turned, glancing back at the entrance to the Pig. A sizable crowd had descended upon it that evening to peer and coo over the tiny Bittertongue babe, and so it was to her surprise when she caught the patriarch of the family exiting the pub towards her.

"The bloke told me yeh tried t'negotiate with 'im." He said said, tone none too happy.

"Not... exactly." Adel began. "I tried to contact the private line to see who'd answer. Snaga did, at first. Then he handed the box over for a fairly angry goblin."

"Ordur, who spoke with me later." Bricu said, "An he wasn't happy 'bout it. He was fuckin' pissed that someone was talkin fer me."

Adel pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering. "I know. He made it clear... and I did not talk for you, he just knew my voice from the public line."

"LASS." Bricu said, raising his voice. Adel instantly straightened under the gaze of angry northmen.
"I'm thinkin yeh don't know a thing 'about gobbos." He growled.
Adel winced. "Not really."
Bricu loomed over her. "Do yeh want him t'be sold ta fuckin' gobbo princess HAREM?" His lips pulled into something akin to a snarl. "Or light forbide, a PRINCE'S harem? The'll drug him."
Adel's own voice rose, "Fuck no! Trust me, I know I fucked up big!"
"I'll leave it there." Bricu said. "I'm workin' on it. But this one is shar, even for a gobbo."

There were a few moments of awkward silence, the visual images Bricu had painted in Adel's mind less than comforting. She spoke carefully. "I'd offer my help, but right now I don't think it's best I put my hands in this further."

"Och, no, yer gonna help. When the time tomes, yer probably gonna have t'be tarted up someth'n fierce."
"... Tarted up?"
"Lass--Adel--yeh know how best t'flirt with a gobbo?" It sounded like a joke, but it was clearly not.
"With... money?" Adel asked hopefully. Bricu's expression continued to lack humor.
"Gold an' skin lass, gold an' skin."