The Legion Comes ((IC, Open, Logs and Prose))

16:32:28 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord pauses as he notices Jo by the mailbox.

16:32:31 You wave at Jocastia.

16:32:36 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Commander.

16:33:12 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord kicks her legs.

16:34:45 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: It's Eth for now.  I'm not feeling very Commanderly.

16:34:59 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: No?

16:35:24 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Thought I'd put on the plate armor and beat up the pells.

16:35:58 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: What...happened last night?  Thoran wouldn't say much.  

16:36:06 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: No?

16:36:20 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord lights a cigarette.

16:38:11 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: We met with an undead paladin. Not their cell leader.

16:38:48 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord blinks.  "Undead...paladin.  Not a death knight?"

16:38:57 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord nods.

16:39:13 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I'd call her that, at least.

16:39:18 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Huh.

16:39:32 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord leans against the mailbox.

16:39:39 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: She's with the Argents, I understand.

16:40:10 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Can an undead paladin even channel the Light?

16:40:55 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Their priests can.

16:42:15 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: So I assume.

16:42:17 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord shrugs.

16:42:18 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Hm.  So what did she have to say?

16:42:30 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: There are doomsayers in Orgrimmar.

16:43:10 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord puffs out a long slow breath through pursed lips.

16:44:11 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Just handing out pamphlets like in Stormwind?

16:44:19 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Or are they causing greater mischief?

16:44:21 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: So what I know.

16:44:35 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: So far as I know, I mean.

16:44:40 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord ashes down onto the pavers.

16:44:44 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: There's more.

16:44:56 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Unusual, increased activity in Azshara. The Barrens. Tanaris.

16:46:16 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord is silent for a moment, then he dips his head once.  "Gathering stormclouds."

16:46:34 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: If it's coming, and we haven't been tricked...it's coming soon.

16:46:50 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Her contact says very soon.

16:48:07 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord rubs his chin.  "Make an announcement...all leave is canceled.  We're now on high alert."

16:48:40 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: At most a month. I could ask Gartip, but it's too risky without the rune I lost in Shadowmoon.

16:48:47 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I give it a week. Not two.

16:48:52 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord nods.

16:49:03 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord 's mouth tightens as he swallows.

16:49:47 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Tell all personnel that if they're traveling, they're to keep their kit with them.  Gear, equipment, first aid supplies.

16:50:13 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Don't travel alone, if possible.

16:50:22 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Understood.

16:50:36 Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord tamps out her cigarette.

16:50:51 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: How's M?

16:51:02 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Livid at our new recruit.

16:51:20 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Gilnean, is he?

16:51:23 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Yes.

16:51:28 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: He didn't help her opinion.

16:51:58 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: He called her a nutter and dismissed our situation in Shadowmoon. He doesn't believe the Legion is coming.

16:52:12 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: It sounds crazy I suppose.

16:52:18 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Thoran doesn't believe it either.

16:52:33 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Thoran was there with us.

16:52:57 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Well, maybe what he's seen will change his mind.  But I don't suppose it matters.

16:53:12 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: When the Legion comes, it doesn't matter what anyone believes.

16:53:29 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: S'true.

16:54:39 Longsight-WyrmrestAccord peers at Jo, his forehead wrinkling in worry.  "What about Nia?  Kixa, Thira?  They're prepared to evacuate here?"

16:54:53 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Nia will be here.

16:55:02 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I don't know about Kixa or Thira.

16:58:41 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I should get on that alert message.

16:58:48 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: We're provisioned as well as can be.  The Keep's probably as safe as can be on this world.

16:59:23 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I'll double check the escape routes too.

16:59:30 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Thanks.

17:00:08 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Thanks for the report.  I'm going to beat up the pells and sweat and try to forget it for a little while now.

17:00:24 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Good plan.

17:00:40 [Longsight-WyrmrestAccord]: Take care, Jo.

17:00:48 [Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: See you 'round.

Calvrith's now-green eyes flared in the dark room. A tiny spark of fel flame danced along the tips of his claws as he took a final glance around his old home in Grizzly Hills. It had been abandoned for months. A thin layer of dust coated most everything, and a few spiders had made elaborate, sticky webbed homes in the high corners of the ceiling.

A second spark joined the first, then a third. Cal rolled them in his palm like marbles. He hadn't expected the trick to come so easy. Then again...it was just a trick, and he would have to master powers far, far stronger if he was going to face the Legion.

“Fight fire with fire...” he said to the empty air, tipping the three fel sparks out of his hand and onto a pile of oil-soaked rags in what was left of his living room. He waited as they caught, watched tongues of green flame race across the wooden floors and up the walls.

The Worgen swore when avoided an errant beam as it fell, nearly cracking his skull on the way down. He began to laugh, watching the cabin crumble around him as he made a swift exit. He wasn't about to let the thing fall on top of him, of course. Calvrith may be foolhardy at times, but he was not stupid.

...at least, that's what he told himself.

Tally's gyrocopter shook to life, dusting snow off of it's hull as the engines roared to life. The large craft was freshly stocked with warheads, ammo, and fuel. She'd made sure to top off on all of it while she was here, so long as she was taking a stop by Ironforge Airfield. As she strapped herself in and deployed her AWACS off to her side she took a moment to draw stock of everything. Cloak was charged and ready to deploy, thrusters were balanced, and with a tap to her controls she could hear the communication link of the airfield coming through her COMM, just for some chatter as she got in the air.

With a start the machine lurched forward, hovering it's way down the airstrip as it steadily gained speed. She pulled her flight goggles down and bundled her heavy jacket over herself- with the altitude she sailed at she couldn't go it without some additional padding. She took the plane down to about the middle of the strip before pulling up on the controls, lifting into an incline that led her up from the earth below and into the open sky ahead. She swung up, dove down over the cliffside of the airstrip, and then began a steady trip up, dragging contrails through the air.

The climb always took a while, and some machines didn't handle it as well as hers. In a few minutes she could only see the faintest glimpses of the Wetlands below, through the haze of morning mist that had rolled in over it. Further on still she could see the silhouette of the mountains that made up the Thandol Span. For now she was content to sit back and let her craft carry her on.

Some time passed. She got lost, staring out towards the ocean as she often did. From here the deep blue of the Great Sea looked almost like a mirror to the sky above, especially on clear days like this. There was something calming about the sight. ...It was good to take her mind off of everything that seemed to be bearing down on them as of late.

She was about to reach the coastline when she first saw it. In the sky above there was a glint of green, reflected upon the waters below. At first she almost didn't realize it. She stared blankly out at the change in hue. Elsewhere, others probably looked up with dread. Some with anger. Some with elation, even. Vox just closed her eyes for a moment, drew a deep breath, and sighed.

"Autosentry battery reporting. ALERT. ALERT. Heavy demonic presence detected, INBOUND." droned her COMM, her sentries sending in their signals already. Dimly she could hear the voices of the Ironforge airfield through the static of her COMM, breaking out into a similar panic.

"Autosentry battery report-ng demonic pre- -nce at vector- . . .  ap. . . --roach- - at velocity o-"

She tightened her grip on her controls and turned her attention up into the sky, her brow knit. She expected to see several things. A rain of infernals, a descending flock of batriders pouring from some sort of portal. She got none of those. Instead her eyes drew wide as the sky was torn open overhead, a huge shadow cast down upon her. She squeezed tight onto her gyrocopter's handles, quickly beginning a dive.

From above a piercing boom shook the sky, a shockwave sent out as that massive vessel forced itself into being overhead. The ripple shot through the air, sounding like a rush of thunder. It struck the fleeing craft below, not even knowing it was there. As soon as that wave of force came barreling into Tally's machine it was sent rattling, the very air seemingly torn out from under it. She was falling for a moment-- engines stopped, rotor thrown out of balance. She could see her flight aid plummeting to the earth below, along with her air sentries. Hurriedly she tried to restart the engine. The earth was rushing up towards her from below, and with the warheads on her back she knew she wouldn't survive, even if she did jump with her parachute.

The sound of the engines drawing power back online was nothing short of a sweet, sweet miracle. She tugged the craft's handles back, trying her best to yank it out of the nosedive it had entered, but it was too late to avoid it entirely. As she began to climb back up she'd go careening straight into a hillside ahead, drawing into a roll just too late to avoid it. She felt her plane shake and rumble, heard the metal splinter and groan. As she grazed up against the rocky ground she felt herself quickly thrown out of balance, half of her right wing torn clear off, and the thruster attached to it bent back and sputtering.

From behind she could feel another shockwave roll through the sky. Mercifully, the terrain masked her from the worst of the damage. She felt her gyrocopter rattle and shake, but it held up. If barely. She was still in the air, but only just.

"This is Applicant Megavox, my flight's been downed and there's a Legion... -ship- in the air!" she calls out over her COMM. There's no one to receive it, at least that she can tell. Her mind is set racing. She needs to get to safety, but there was no way this machine was going to cross the span or the mountain range into the Hinterlands. She was practically limping as it was. --Safehouses. She had just enough altitude to make it into the tunnels leading back to Loch Modan, and from there, Dun Morogh.

It was the best shot she had right now. As he flight sputtered its way through the air, veering from side to side with it's broken wing, she tapped back into her communication system.

"This is a repeating echobeacon set by Applicant Megavox. My flight has been downed. My coordinates will broadcast at the conclusion of this message. Any receiving in range that are in need of shelter, approach my coordinates. If anyone already at a safehouse is receiving, report status. Thank you."

She'd leave that to run as she went. Hopefully through the interference some of it would get through.

It was a long road ahead.

To keep steady, she counted her steps.

Forty five.

Forty six.

Forty seven.

Around and around, her pace never changing, M circled the guard house. She could hear muffled snoring from within and the rustling of blankets as someone turned over. Every noise that wasn't sleep earned a swift, sharp glance.

A bear stepped on a twig and she almost shot.

Sixty eight.

Sixty nine.

Seventy.

The green light was pale in the west, but dimmer than it had been. Perhaps the Legion had been driven off, for now. Doubtless, they would return with force again.

Every time a cloud blotted out the light of the moon and stars, her masked face snapped upwards rapidly enough for her leathers to rustle and metal to grate. She did not fear, but she anticipated seeing the black outline of that ship slide over to rain green fire down on them.

One hundred and five.

One hundred and six.

One hundred and seven.

It had taken long to reach Loch Modan, constantly in battle or skirting along the edges of other ones. The screams from the quarry still rang in her ears. But she could not spare time to stop. They had to reach shelter, somewhere a bit more safe, before night truly fell. So she marched on, the rest of them had followed, and no questions were asked.

Not yet.

One hundred and fifty two.

One hundred and fifty three.

One hundred and fifty four.

Her mind unfolded map after map, retracing every trip she'd ever taken to Loch Modan and the Wetlands beyond it. There was the pass, that thin mountain road trailing down to the swamp lands beneath it, but would it be held against them? What if the Legion held the Highlands or the peak itself? Would retreat even be feasible?

Would she make it home to her farm, to the daughter left there?

Would they be safe?

Two hundred and sixty nine.

Two hundred and seventy.

Two hundred and seventy one.

No communication had come from the north since that first announcement and sound off, but by her counting, at least half the unit was abroad or at the keep itself. Were the COMMs still down? Would they ever go back up? What was preventing them, interference? Something more?

Her hand twitched at her side. She had stepped on a pebble, which fell with the faintest of tinks onto the floor. She'd nearly shot it, like the bear.

Four hundred and fifty six.

Four hundred and fifty seven.

Four hundred and fifty eight.

At the edge of her mind, so light she could have ignored it, she felt a brush and it was not recognizable. She knew Them, Their cold but smooth voices, how the words resonated against memory and experience. This was different. This was harsh, hot, and, she guessed, probably alluring. It promised power and it promised glory. It was far easier to sweep aside than reminders of how They had been right, in the end, and how she had fallen.

For once, M was distantly pleased that she didn't care for power or fame. Temptation was trickier that way.

The presence did not come a second time that night.

Eight hundred and ninety eight.

Eight hundred and ninety nine.

Nine hundred.

Mountaineers changed posts in the night, moving like green shadows down the road to Thelsamar. She caught whispered words in Dwarven, rumors of a terrible battle on an island, and a death. There was no name, only 'he' and 'him,' and she did not try to listen more.

If she admitted it, she didn't want to know.

Two thousand and eighty five.

Two thousand and eighty six.

Two thousand and eighty seven.

The night wore on, slowly and warily. Two birds were nearly shot as they fluttered overhead, their shadows against the white walls almost looking like fel bats.

M realized why she was on alert when she reached step number four thousand. The woods were silent.

Six thousand.

Six thousand and one.

Six thousand and two.

Six thousand and three.

The count of numbers became a droning song in her mind. Her eyes continued to shift from movement to movement to abrupt lack of movement. Every wind gust, every still moment, was scrutinized to the tune of...

Nine thousand and twenty.

Nine thousand and twenty one.

Nine thousand and twenty two.

Cool mountain air brought the scent of sulfur down with it. The green light had extinguished over the mountains to the west, but for a brief moment she could have sworn she saw stars blot out and ignite again overhead.

The scent of sulfur moved on.

Ten thousand, six hundred and seventy nine.

Ten thousand, six hundred and eighty.

Ten thousand, six hundred and eighty one.

When the dawn did come, much later, M's steps did not falter until she heard stirring in the guard house. Mountaineers came to relieve their night watch brothers. M begged a map of the Wetlands off one. Her watch had ended, if only because new work had started.

She sat on the roof, map flattened in front of her, and began to plan.

She sat on her bedroll, staring blankly at the old COMM she still carried from her time in the Retribution.  It still worked—sometimes—but mostly she carried it because she’d set up separate bands on it—a private one for she and her husband and another for the Argent Crusade.

The transmission across the latter band had been staticy, but clear enough.  Her throat felt tight.  It was hard to breathe.

She stood up from her bedroll.  She’d slept in her boots, prepared to have to move quickly, in case they were in danger of being overrun here or worse.  Now, in her state of shock, she was vaguely glad that she had.

Quin walked out into the dim light of pre-dawn, sick to her stomach.  She cleared her throat.  “Advisor?  Masana?  It’s Adama, stepping out.  I need some air.”

At least she’d had the presence of mind to announce herself.

Tirion Fordring was dead.  Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion was dead.

A sob tore at her throat.  She stuffed a linen-wrapped fist against her mouth, stifling the sound.

I can’t do this here, I can’t do this now.  Not here.  Not now.  There will be time later.

Later, if we survive this.

Tirion was dead.

Varian Wrynn was dead.

Tirion Fordring was dead.

The crusader squeezed her eyes shut against the tears she couldn’t stop.  They rolled down her cheeks, stinging, hot.

Then cold.

Then ice.

Quin Adama stood on the steps outside Algaz Station, weeping tears of ice that dropped like crystals to the bare ground beneath her feet.

Sky felt the wave of heat wash over her, one arm lifting to shield her eyes from the flash of light that came with the felfire blast.  The skin along her arms, her fingers, her forehead nose and ears... all at once she felt it tighten, the painful bubbles of skin stretching over rapidly filling blisters.  The smell of burning hair filled her nostrils. Her daggers felt like fire in her hands, scorching her palms.  She felt them slip from her grasp as her mouth opened in a pained scream.

She awoke for the third time that night, clammy sweat coating her face.  Glancing to her side, she breathed a sigh of relief.  At least she hadn't woken Cere this time. Slowly, she sat up, running her fingernails backwards through her hair, the scratching against her scalp serving as a focus to keep her mind in the present.  She laid back down with a sigh, cuddling close to Cere and pressing her ear to his back until she could hear his heartbeat.  It was hard enough to sleep this early - it was the middle of the night!- even without the nightmares.  She knew it was going to be bad, she thought she was ready... but this was nothing like what she expected.  There were so many demons, unending batallions pouring out of portals and ships, and the screaming... 

With a gulp, Sky squared her shoulders and closed her eyes, concentrating on each breath as she forced herself to try to sleep again.  While she could.

((I died three times during hte invasion.  >.>  Dodge gets hurt.  NOT BAD THOUGH!))

He was asking after some plants.  Varia wanted cuttings, even in the Keep.  She said they were important and could only be found in the desert.  So he'd gone.

The flash was so bright it stunned him even as he felt himself lifted from the ground.  People were screaming, screaming, screaming.  

Thoran was screaming.  

He slammed hard into a wall, the entire side of his body connecting with the stone.  He could hear his bones breaking, feel the side of his head smack against the heated brick.  He smelled burning hair and meat and realized it was him...

Was he dying?  I'm going to be late for supper was his only thought before darkness took him.  

For how long he didn't know, because the next thing he knew he felt a wave of calm, cool healing washing over him.  His eyes opened.  His vision was blurry and he was in agony, but he was alive and able to move.

And move he did.  He snarled angrily, rising as he shifted into his furs, detatching the axe from his back.

With a howl of rage and anger, he swung at the first demon he saw.

He would not go down without a fight.

Avo wouldn't sleep. Avo couldn't sleep.

Instead she sat crouched, leaned against the wall inside the dwarven guardhouse, her eyes fixed on the small mechanical device that lay cupped in her hands. Occasionally she would press the button and speak hushed words into it, but all that replied was the same monotonous static that played since the attack on Elwynn early yesterday morning.

Once or twice she had nodded off, but then the horrors she witnessed filled her mind and forced her awake. Like some goblin recording machine stuck on repeat, the events of that morning played in her mind nonstop. The infernals crushing numerous houses, imps throwing gobs of felfire at fleeing people, the once pristine blue sky replaced by the sickly green of the demons.

A small screech from the comm caused Avo to start, her hands fumbling and almost dropping it. "Hello?" Her voice, though soft, was anxious and nervous. But the glimmer of hope that had shone throught the fog of despair winked out, for the comm continued to give off static.

Disbelief and disappointment filled Avo, and angrily she chucked the comm device at the pile of boxes a few feet from her. Hot tears stung her eyes and she dropped her head onto her knees. "Gods, please let them be safe." She whispered while wiping the tears away. "I'll give anything, do anything. Just keep them safe."

The sleeping figure of Quvren stirred beside her drew her attention, and a steely resolve began welling up inside her, shoving the negative emotions away. The gods won't do anything, she thought. I have to keep them all safe. No matter what.

Noradrid Ironbeak watched the skies over the Highlands. Dark clouds hung low over the valley where her family had settled only a few years prior. Distant rumbling echoed off the nearby peaks. Sudden storms were not uncommon in the summer, but the niggling feeling of dread chilled her spine and set her jaw. She sat outside her parents' home set into the side of the moutain, fully armored, as she polished her shield with idle hands. She was patient. She would be patient. It would not be prudent to rush off to oblivion.

She tore her eyes away from the sky as the sound of hooves approached from the south. Her cousin Burag, with graying beard and a missing finger on his left hand was charging up to the house on one of the yearlings. The sheep snorted as he dropped from it grim-faced.

"Word from Ironforge, cousin," he said, pausing to catch his breath. "Thae Legion's here. Hit Dun Morogh few hours ago." His eyes scanned the sky for an instant. "Courier said 'e saw 'em movin' north."

Nora hopped up. "I'll tell Da. You get down to the fields. You know the plan?" He nodded. "Good. Be careful!" She watched him mount the sheep in a single fluid motion and turn it back south. A crack of thunder, much louder this time, shook the ground she was standing on. She prayed the Light would be with her.

((this is about Tayella))

Are we going to be okay?

((Squick warning for gore/body mutilation.))

Stupids had always cut flesh well. M was squatting, wedged between the wall of a reed tent and the tree next to it, observing with practiced eyes as she slit her flesh along her rib cage. The first incision, running vertical and only a few inches long, sliced skin, very minimal fat, and muscle until the bone of a rib was exposed. A rag was pressed to the cut, wiping away the slight amount of blackish, coagulated blood that oozed from it. Carefully, her metal fingers poked and prodded along her rib, further in towards her stomach, until she nodded. Below that rib, she cut a new slice, almost perfectly straight until it met with the vertical one on her side. Then she walked her fingers up and mirrored it above the rib until there was a flap of skin.

She paused a moment to look around, ensuring no eyes were around to catch her, topless and self-mutilating, behind one of the tents. No one was there. M nodded again and then, using Stupids when needed, she peeled back the flap of skin until a rib was exposed. It was fractured in two places, and the skin that had formerly been above it showed heavy bruising from the infernal's pummeling strikes. The only sign M gave of discontent was how her lips tightened into a slightly flatter line than usual.

Using a sewing needle to pin her skin flap in place, M turned to the jar she'd brought with her. It had been a valuable gift, one of three from a friend she certainly hoped she'd see again to thank. The goop, some sort of ichor mixed with things she didn't want to ask about, had worked miracles before and she could use a miracle now. The burns from the Light, pale grey welts along her feet and legs, could wait until they eventually reached some destination, the Keep or otherwise. But a fractured rib would worsen and she could not afford to be taken out by something that small. Besides, performing questionable surgery on herself helped take her mind off other, worse things.

The hallucination was the main one, and although the fact that Cere had dreamed the same thing brought some comfort, the fact that it was just them, apparently, almost made up for it. M suspected he was thinking the same thing, that it could be the influence of Ulduar, of Yogg-Saron or another, finally reaching them again. She hoped against hope it was not. The Legion and their drifts into minds she could handle. The Old Gods she could not. And both together...

She frowned at the goop as she smeared it along her rib. It set immediately, first coating the bone and mixing with her own blackish blood to create a shell, and then recreating and melding with the rib itself. And then there was the news over the COMM, both from the night before and during the trek down Dun Algaz. Had the Keep truly fallen? Was Fro, or anyone else, dead? What exactly did Bey mean when she said Ashenvale was destroyed? The safehouse or was the whole place swarmed? And what Peri had hinted at, that a ship hadn't returned. Was it -his- ship? Where had it gone? Was it just delayed? Had it stopped somewhere that the Legion had invaded and went to assist instead?

Somehow, she doubted goblins would willingly drop everything to help, even if it was the end of the world. Peri said she would investigate, and she was heading south anyway, but if communication lines stayed down, would she ever hear back? Knights were tough, and M had absolute faith in most gnomes' abilities, but Dun Morogh had been hellish when the Servitors had left. Would her friend even make it to Ironforge?

There were too many questions and no answers to speak of. So, instead, M unpinned her skin and carefully flattened it over her newly setting rib. Over the incisions she spread a paper thin layer of the goop, which merged and melded with the flesh to form either a perfect mimicry or the actual thing. M hadn't asked or tried to guess and didn't care to. It worked, so it did not need to be questioned further. Swiftly, now that her repairs were done, she rose and began the slow process of re-arming herself. The runed metal coil was slowly slipped on her torso, her tunic was buckled on and her shoulders clipped. Once the pale blue light of her screen was shining on her face, she noticed the worst thing yet.

>INHIBITOR LEVELS LOW. RECOMMEND REFILLING.

Oh.

((I made myself cry writing this, it's all Eth's fault!!))

Loss still hurt, M was finding to her grim resignation. Her chest ached and she knew it was not wholly due to the general discomfort the inhibitor brought, and it certainly wasn't from her own injuries. She supposed, had she been alive, she would be crying now. Even if she was dead, she might have tried to. Now, though, there was just an empty, aching cold that gave no closure or helped the process along. No letting go, no cathartic cries of grief and pain, just bitter resignation and the uncomfortable thought that the lost one was, in the end, better off than M herself was, still continuing on in undeath.

Masana deserved the peace of true, lasting rest in death.

M shifted where she stood, back against the lower wall of the elven tower. She had a funeral to oversee tomorrow, as the highest ranking officer present and as the group's leader. There was no time to try and learn draenei funeral traditions, and she agreed with Quin that the bodies of the undead should be burned to prevent mindless rising again. She hoped it would not be an insult and that, somehow, Masana's soul would find the Light, or the naaru, or anything good instead of...she wasn't sure. She knew where her own soul would go in death, but no one else's. Still, her fallen friend deserved the very best of afterlives, whether in the Shadowlands or better.

The icy ache stabbed stronger at the thought. Masana was dead. Masana was -dead-. The draenei she'd seen as a sister in undeath, someone else who understood the suffering and the blandness, someone who'd been willing to steal from Acherus itself to help a gnome she didn't even know that well, was gone forever. She could remember her interview, her first missions. How it had delighted M no end to see her light up when M and Jo helped get her a new, metal jaw. Then more recently, the nights of guard in Loch Modan and the Wetlands, and how entirely M trusted the silent, steady presence in the nights with her. Now, the burden of night guard fell on M alone and it ached. It ached so intensely that she pressed her hand to her chest, metal fingers scraping against her leathers.

She heard a few sniffles and people turning restlessly. Her hand dropped at once. No matter her own pain, real or imagined, and no matter the extent of her own injuries, she could not bend or falter. She could wait to cope with her loss. The living needed their grief, but more than that, they needed a solid leader. M thought she'd performed well so far, at least, but now it was more crucial. Now, she had to ensure no one fell into lethargy and she had to keep pressing to advance. The fact that Fro had gotten a message through was a plus, at least now there was confirmation that, although unsafe and under siege, the Keep stood and that at least a handful were alive still. The need to return to rescue their swordbrethren would be a good motivator. That, of course, and continuing in Masana's memory.

In the end, it was a bitter night's watch. Every time she glanced up, the reminder that her friend was no longer there stabbed at her. When the dawn was only starting to show in the east over the mountains of Grim Batol, M left her post on the ramp and paced the circle inside the vine wall. She counted her steps. It would not be an easy way forward, both that day and all the ones to come, but she had to keep going.

For Masana.

Seda shuffled her way up to the workshop. Down below she could still hear the sound of celebration among people in the keep, cheering the return of warriors, drinking to the fallen, and watching in the distance as the demonic vessel that had been looming overhead burned against a mountainside.

Seda was happy. But the entire time back she had been almost completely silent. There was a sense of creeping dread, as if she were standing upon the verge of a precipice, her mind constantly urging her not to jump. She didn't know what to make of it. She was... safe. As far as she could tell. But she felt nothing but fear and apprehension all over her.

She came to her workbench. M had asked for her spare suit to be ready, and Seda wanted to be sure it was. She raised her left hand up, grabbing for a toolkit as he right hand rose to pull a gadget from it. Instead she found her runeblade raised up, still held in a vice grip, her hand clamped down around it's hilt in a stony hold. Her eyes locked on the blade's flat. The chainblade was cracked, and the runes glowed so dimly. As she began to let it free she felt a sudden, startling panic- and she took hold of it once again. In her chest she felt a deep pang of anxiety, her skin crawling as her attention shot around the otherwise empty room. No one had followed her up yet. She was, ultimately, glad. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she knew it would look strange.

She forced herself. One finger. Two. The last digit shook as she held the blade, her eyes wincing, brow knit in confusion even as she braced for something she didn't fully realize was coming.

She let go of the blade. It dropped against the workbench with soft, harmless thump.

Seda dropped to the workshop floor with a sharp, noisy clatter.

Masana's Funeral

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord takes care to make noise as she approaches. "...Advisor."

Skybrooke-WyrmrestAccord gingerly lowers herself to the ground.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: What is the password?

[Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord]: Rochambeau.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: Mm. You made it. This is positive.

Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord glances back over her shoulder. She manages a crooked smile for Bey.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord inclines her head, too dog tired (ha) to say much else.

Skybrooke-WyrmrestAccord sniffles and uses the heel of her hand to wipe at her eyes.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord quietly falls into line and turns her attention to the funeral proceedings.

[Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Haven't seen a funeral for a Servitor since... Meri, I think.
Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord sighs.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: I never have.

[Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord]: ...Light, I remember tha'.

Marrii-WyrmrestAccord clears her throat.
[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: I believe we could go around and perhaps mention something or share a story. Nothing overly long, requested, but something of meaning to you if you knew her. Then we will burn.
[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: In, ah. Whatever order. Just speak.

[Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Masana was nicer than I figured a Knight could be. Maternal, really.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord hesitates, then clears her throat. "Masana was, ah...she was, well, good. Not like most've those angry knights I seen." She pauses. "...Sorry I didn't get to know 'er better."
Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord is the best with words.

[Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord]: She was sweet, creative, kind of funny. I'm sad she's gone.

Avoriana-WyrmrestAccord glanced at the body of Masana for a few moments, and looked away. "She was blissfully ignorant of the world, and it was nice to teach her about things, like get well cards."

[Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: I didn't expect 'er to make a sacrifice like that. I reckon I should have. There's summat noble in true death.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: I recall her happiness when she was gifted with a new jaw. She designed the patterns herself. They were of another world that she and her late husband liked.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord inclines her head in silence.

Skybrooke-WyrmrestAccord sniffles. "She was always kind, always noble... used her strength to help everyone around her."

[Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord]: In undeath, she lived. In death, we honor her and her memory.

Marrii-WyrmrestAccord sets a hand on Sky's shoulder, nodding. "She cared about us. All of us. I ah. I will miss her presence."

[Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: ...I wish she wasn't gone.

Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord nods slowly.

Rubblerat-WyrmrestAccord occasionally looks over her shoulder at the proceedings, rifle held in the crook of her arm as she stands guard.

Skybrooke-WyrmrestAccord wipes her eyes again.

Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord pulls her goggles down around her neck so tears don't pool in them.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: I hope her soul goes somewhere nice. She deserves it. And we will keep the fight against the Legion going in her honor.

[Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord]: Hear hear.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord nods.

[Marrii-WyrmrestAccord]: I...ah. Go ahead, Quin.

Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord nods slowly. She murmurs something under her breath, then lifts her hands as they fill with blue-white flame. The strange fire flows from her hands like water, catching in the kindling piled around the bottom of the pyre and starting to climb.
Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord continues to cast even as the flames climb the branches and the vines up toward Masana. Her hands tremble slightly, but it doesn't seem to affect the spellwork--at least not in this. The flames climb higher, eventually catching Masana's cloak.
Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord finally stops as the flames start to consume the draenei. She steps back, silent, a few tears sliding down her cheeks.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord keeps her eyes trained on the pyre, despite the fatigue lining her face.

Avoriana-WyrmrestAccord pulled out a small wooden button out of her pocket and approached the pyre. "You will be greatly missed, Masana." She murmured, dropping the button into the flames.

Marrii-WyrmrestAccord can't seem to look away. She grips her tabard just above the lion's head as she stares, stock still. "May your soul find true rest this time," she mutters.

Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord approaches the pyre and tosses a single gold crown toward Masana's hand.

[Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord]: Goddess and the Light safekeep you, Masana. May what comes after be kind.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord digs in her pouch and plucks up a little sprig of flowers, a little smushed but still pretty. She trudges over to release it into the flames by Masana's hands. "Thank you for protectin' my family one last time, marm. I 'ope you find rest over there."

Jocastia-WyrmrestAccord rests her forehead on M's pauldron.

Marrii-WyrmrestAccord wraps her arms around Jo.

Rubblerat-WyrmrestAccord stares out over the marsh and down the winding trail leading to Menethil Harbor. She chews her lip in silence.

Beyarma-WyrmrestAccord gingerly eases herself down to sit with a strained groan.

Quinlis-WyrmrestAccord just stares at the pyre.

Skybrooke-WyrmrestAccord sniffles again, watching the base of the flames.

Marrii-WyrmrestAccord takes a deep, unnecessary breath and lets it out sharply.

Posted on the Wildhammer Keep Servitor's message board:

With official confirmation of Initiate Masana's death, black-and-gold mourning tabards are to be worn for a period of thirty days.  This is our tradition for fallen Servitors.  Those of you who do not yet have a mourning tabard can obtain one in Storage.

- Cmndr. Longsight