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[ ACTIVE / OPEN : GODSBLOOD ]

WHO: Anduin Wrynn & Anyone in Godsblood
WHAT: Local 19 Year Old Boy Realises He May Need A Job
WHERE: Godsblood
WHEN: August, up until the event (17th)
WARNINGS: None at the offset

Being in a coastal city, surrounded by mountains, inevitably makes Anduin think of Stormwind. Only if he was in Stormwind, he wouldn't be in quite the predicament he's in now.

Anduin has no money, one set of clothing and a thin blanket. That, and Wrathion. He's not certain if that's a blessing or a curse, but company is company.

I. HEALING

"Hold still," Anduin says softly.

"How long will this take?"

"Just a moment --"

"And how much will it cost?"

"No charge, as I said."

"I do not need your pity. I can afford to pay! Tell me the cost."

Anduin shifts on the crate he's sat on by the boat moorings, looking up into the expression of the woman whose arm he's healing. A soft, warm glow of light is enveloping the limb as he holds it steady, a gentle buffet of magic rustling Anduin's loose, blond hair. It is, at least, now dry -- but what he wouldn't do for a comb and a hair tie.

"This may burn a little," he warns, and she hisses in response. "You'll need to rest it a few days, so I'd advise against fishing --"

"Payment," she emphasises, and he warily lets go of her arm again as she wiggles her fingers to test it.

"Well," he says finally. "I wouldn't say no to something to eat."

There's a pause before she nods, studying him warily before walking away towards her boat to search for something. Anduin watches her leave, then turns his attention back up to the figure nearby who had been watching.

"Can I help you?"

A start. Perhaps they need healing too? Or just have questions.

II. EATING

Now armed with something to eat, Anduin has moved to a quieter spot along the shoreline. He's watching birds wheel through the sky, boats moving back and forth across the horizon.

An unease grips him, but it feels... formless. Like there's an emptiness inside him he isn't sure what to do with.

Is Azeroth... truly gone?

Genn Greymane. Jaina Proudmore. Veleera, Velen --

So many people. Everyone in Stormwind.

Gone.

Where does that leave him? What does that leave him?

A sovereign, this place calls him, but of what? Anduin Wrynn is no longer anyone of import. He's not sure how to feel about that.

He also has no money, nowhere to sleep. As much as he doesn't want to ask people for payment, he will need a job sooner rather than later. Light, what would he be good at? It feels wrong to ask for money in return for healing. He can use a bow and sword if he needs to, but enough to charge for it? He could hunt at a push... Carrying messages, perhaps? Loading and unloading stock?

He frowns in thought as he picks at the bread he has, then turns as he senses someone nearby. Maybe the easiest thing is to ask --

"Excuse me?" he prompts, pushing up to his feet. His leg twinges and he winces briefly before straightening. "Do you know this place well?"

Better to start gently than to question someone who knows as little as he does.

III. WILDCARD

Pitch me your own starter! I can switch to brackets if you want, prose is just my default.

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Anduin has, by the time Wrathion returns, placed the folded blanket he offered right back on Wrathion's bed.

He has a small spare one of his own, the one from the shrine, and he's rolled that loosely to use as a pillow. His clothes are itchy, and he's wondering if the robe the demon gave him would be less itchy. Would it be good for sleeping in? He --

The door opens, and Anduin blinks as Wrathion walks in. The dragon is --

Ah.

Anduin doesn't know that he's ever seen him so... undone. It's interesting, in a detached way, to realise. Wrathion is always dressed up, perfectly turned out. There's an air of theatre to it, to his behaviour. Here, he's --

Not human. He isn't, you cannot forget that, but he is somehow... disarmed.

... Then again, sexuality can be a weapon. Anduin isn't so naïve he's unaware of that. He pulls himself together at that thought, tries to swallow back his interest and collect himself.

"I see you found somewhere to wash," he begins, folding his robe back away and putting into into his bag. He's not going to consider getting changed now, not since Wrathion is back. "I don't imagine it will be enough to help you sleep, but at least you'll be more comfortable."

That gives Vader the time he'd wanted to do a mental sweep of the area. Nobody seems to be moving into the alley, and nobody seems to be particularly interested. At least, not that he can detect. Good.

Once Anduin reaches the top, the big man turns.

"What did you do to the girl? I sensed something, but not something I am familiar with."

Wrathion is disarmed. To him, clothing is armor--Anduin might understand that, especially since priestly raiment is one version, and his kingly armor might be another. Neither of which the priest has here. Is he equally disarmed? Were he asked his opinion, Wrathion would say not. Anduin bears a quiet dignity that he draws around himself like a cloak.

The dragon envies him that, though he does not breathe a word of said envy. He already feels like the loser in their current exchanges. To wit, Wrathion is trying desperately not to be petulant, because he's well aware to do so will not help his situation at all.

"I did. However, the less said about it, the better." He can't hide a bit of petulance there, but at the situation, not at Anduin himself. He just quietly resolves to work harder the next day, because Wrathion does not want to stay in this particular low quality establishment another day. Not if he can help it. Wrathion's not certain if the patrons downstairs ogled him because of his shard (probable) or his looks (possible) or both, but nothing about the experience was comfortable in the least. Yes, he's vain, and aware he's attractive, but a line was crossed, there. Wrathion wasn't fond of being ogled by strangers.

"The water was hot, at least." Which is about the best that can be said of it. And the soap was more than simply some scrap of harsh and lye-ridden washerwoman's castoffs. For which the dragon is thankful.

"What about you?" Wrathion asks, as Anduin mentions sleeping. He hasn't missed the fact that his blanket was back on his bed, but it can stay there. Anduin does not look...comfortable. Not that the dragon is either, but he's prepared to deal with it, at least.

Anduin flits a tired, wry smile.

"I've slept in worse places. At least it's clean, dry and safe."

He might not sleep well, but he'll get some rest he's sure. His eyes drop away from Wrathion, resting on his hands for a moment, then lift again -- brow furrowed.

"Do you think Azeroth is really gone?"

He felt it, somehow, and yet --

Yet somehow it feels too big a concept to process, to understand and accept.

The whole of Azeroth, gone, when... when it had felt like they'd only just saved it. Sylvanas was still at large, he knew that, the Night Elves were suffering but --

But how did it happen? How did he fail so catastrophically?

Wrathion opens his mouth to say something, but then...

Anduin would ask that question. Wrathion has been very deliberately not thinking about Azeroth very much, now. To think about it means to confront his failure, the loss of his very charge. He very carefully avoids Anduin's gaze for the moment, and laces his fingers before him, resting his elbows on his crossed knees. Lowers his gaze to the floor.

He's been very carefully not thinking about it. He'd just defeated N'zoth. Just eradicated the last of the Old Gods, and yes, it was with the adventurers' assistance, but...those creatures had brought his father low. Corrupted his entire flight, save Wrathion himself, by some whim of fate or unknown will of the Titans. He'd found his brother Ebyssian and kept him free from their whispers at no small cost to himself (but worth it, it was worth it, he thinks...).

The dragon straightens, inhales, and grits his teeth. He wants to lie--that's his first reaction, but again, he knows if he does and Anduin finds out, there will be no coming back from that. The priest already does not trust him (rightfully, he thinks; Wrathion has already shoved Anduin aside at least once. That it was for the sake of Azeroth entire does not seem to mean a thing. So be it).

"I want to say no, Anduin, but...I don't feel Azeroth." Not that he had ever visited Argus when it hung in Azeroth's sky, but he had some vague sense of that world's soul, and Azeroth's presence had always been stronger by far. His flight had always had a connection to Azeroth and her deep places. Wrathion had had a connection.

No longer.

He brushes himself down as he reaches the top, dropping the levitation spell so his feet plant securely on the roof and taking a steadying breath. Vader's question draws his attention and Anduin looks up, gaze steady. What did he do?

"I made a suggestion," he says simply.

One she was unable to refuse, but details.

"And backed it up with...magic."

That's more his interest. Vader's senses probe towards Anduin, seeking to discern his surface thoughts and figure the young man out. What is his emotional state and how does he react? His question is asked more to probe and draw out a response than anything else.

"...You believe encouraging them to seek freedom to be improper?"

Edited 2022-08-17 22:49 (UTC)

He doesn't... feel Azeroth?

"Would you?" he prompts. "From here? Wherever this... is."

Wrathion is not, after all, a true aspect. He is not Speaker of Azeroth like Magni. How much connection to Azeroth did he truly have? Anduin supposes it's... not quite the appropriate time to question his abilities, it's just that --

It's just that, if Wrathion thinks he doesn't feel Azeroth and... if he thinks that he should --

Well, that would prove things. Anduin doesn't want to prove things. He suspects, in a deep sense of unease, but he doesn't want to believe his gut.

He doesn't want it to be true.

He wants to be wrong.

Wrathion's first thought: I should have lied. He knows it isn't right, but he imagines it might have hurt less.

His second thought is giving serious consideration to a tantrum like he'd had in the Tavern of the Mists--but no. That might give Anduin more problems as well. It might be cathartic for Wrathion in the moment, but in the long run, it isn't a good choice.

He inhales again and does his very best to give actual consideration to Anduin's question. He has been many places on Azeroth--Shen'dralar. The tower of Karazhan--which, while it is true that said tower has parts of itself shift to other dimensions, to Wrathion's knowledge, it never did so while he was within it. The Shado-Pan monastery. He wants to snap at Anduin, but the fact that Wrathion doesn't know isn't the priest's fault. Instead, he glares at Anduin--but that is sullen defeat, not anger, in his eyes.

"No," Wrathion admits. "Having never been off of Azeroth's soil until my hatching here, I do not know if I would."

He's still thinking he should have lied, but Wrathion persists in not doing so. He, too, wants to be wrong.

He fears he is not.

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know, so that means it isn't confirmed. They can't be sure.

Azeroth might still be safe, the dream may be some predication of the future. It may be some possible future, even, but not necessarily theirs.

It doesn't have to be now, and yet --

Yet Anduin... felt it. He felt --

His teeth worry at his bottom lip.

"Then we don't know," Anduin re-iterates a little too intensely. "We can't be sure that's it's gone."

That everyone is gone. That, once again, Anduin has failed to save his friends. His eyes feel hot, but Anduin ignores it. He matches Wrathion's sullen glare with a frown of his own, angry -- but he doesn't know who he's angry at. He's angry at the situation. At this Regent, at waking up here, at the dream, at the inn and its itchy bed and his itchy clothing.

"I felt it," he continues, and by some miracle his voice comes out steady, "but we can't be sure. There must be something we can do. There has to be something."

Edited (html) 2022-08-18 00:45 (UTC)

The Old Gods are gone. How might they be here? There is no possible way that Wrathion could be going mad, but there is a persistent buzzing at the base of his skull. He wants to throw something. But no. If nothing else, that's anger talking.

He is in control. As much control as he can have, in a situation like this.

"But Anduin--" Wrathion can hear the whining tone entering his voice, and that angers him--but at himself. Again he fights the urge to throw something. (The rolled-up blanket might be safe, but it's a short distance from throwing that to throwing something else. Something worse.)

"I felt it, too. I don't know what I felt for sure, but..." Wrathion has been told that whatever else the Regent is, they are powerful. It makes the dragon envious, as he envies all with great power; but he has a choice, and he will not serve the dark. If there is nothing else, he would prefer to go down screaming than serve another who wishes only to see the destruction of the existing world. There was a promise they extended for better?

Wrathion did not trust them. He knew how easy it was to lie to someone he cared about. How easy, then, was it to lie to someone who meant nothing? Someone who was just a pawn in some grand game?

But then his (blessed, normal) stubbornness reasserts itself. Wrathion might be a bit too glib, here, and yet. "I thought we were doing something, Anduin. That is why we are here in Godsblood, and among the Pleroma." And waiting for whatever this assault was going to be, going forward, but the dragon thought better of bringing that up, at the moment.

The reach for Anduin's surface thoughts doesn't appear to be noticed. Anduin has distractedly glanced back to make sure he can see nobody following, but the question draws his attention quickly. He's not particularly concerned, a considerate wariness colouring him, but the inquiry generates a confused burst of surprise as his attention turns back. Improper? Why would it be improper?

"What? No, Light no I -- I was concerned the group would begin to draw more attention to you, since you don't blend in, and that the more you pressed them and the longer it went on the more fired up they would become."

Thus, more likely to draw attention. How could he have known the figure was so agile despite the heft of his armour? He'd been concerned he might end up running from a bigger group slowly -- Anduin knows what it is to try and run in heavy armour! Still, here they are now. On a rooftop, for whatever good that will do them. Hopefully nobody looks up.

"Then we are on the same side, and of the same mind. I needed to know for certain, as I have not devised a method for discerning one from the other."

He can feel the truth in Anduin's words, and the lad's genuine desire to assist and be useful. He'd just needed to be sure that this boy wasn't one of the other sect, and pull him off the street to deal with him if he was.

"I am well aware of my inability to...blend in. That is an unfortunate reality. A risk I will have to continue to take, but perhaps you are correct. Now may not be the time."

"They want us to save this world," Anduin counters, "and I agree -- no world should be destroyed, but --"

This world isn't Azeroth. Anduin wants to save Azeroth, above all. His world. His family, what is left of it. His friends. He trails off, takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

"I'd just feel better if I knew," he says more roughly. "If I knew there was a chance, or even -- if I understood what happened."

It had just been so... abrupt. One day, he'd been in Azeroth, then suddenly he was here. He frowns down at his hands, feeling... childish. He's sure other people have suffered, too, and the Light has brought him surely for a reason. Other people have not been so lucky. Anduin blinks, takes another shaky breath and lets it out slowly. The thumb of his right hand scratches distractedly at his left, and he tries to press down aggressively on the well of emotion threatening.

Now isn't the time. It won't do any good. Now isn't the time.

"What if saving this world means that Azeroth is saved as well?" Whether or not their world is destroyed or not, clearly it's imperiled somehow if the two of them are there. That is what Wrathion is taking from all of this, in any case. He does not particularly care about Horos, save for how what happens to it affects Azeroth.

Saving their home. In that, he and Anduin are aligned. The dragon will cling to that. Even the irrational anger releases slowly from him at that thought.

"Anduin...what if we're being blocked from sensing Azeroth? I'm sure you've heard that the Regent is incredibly powerful..."

After all, if Wrathion could do such a thing, with the added benefit of fomenting despair which also gave him strength? He would. And this is what he's heard of the Regent, so why wouldn't they? It would cost so little to them, and benefit them greatly in both power and in other means.

And the Young Lion is...not doing well. Not that Wrathion had been, either, but he has things to...distract himself with, now. The wheel of his thoughts has been given something to grind. No such boon for Anduin, however. So, as awkward as he knows this might be, Wrathion moves, scooting towards Anduin to reach for him and sling an arm over the young king's shoulders. He might never believe it, but Wrathion is...attempting, at least, to give Anduin a hug.

Not that he'd blame the human for shoving him away.

Anduin goes tense instantly, aware of the bare expanse of skin Wrathion is pressing close to him. Aware of how once upon a time he would have craved this comfort from Wrathion. A time when he thought they were friends.

What are they now? What is this? An attempt to reconnect? To force Anduin to leave his anger aside? An attempt to build a bridge?

He doesn't know if he can cope with this. Not now. He hasn't the capacity.

"Don't," he whispers softly. "Don't do this."

Don't wear down his defences. He knows he'll given in, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to allow this only for Wrathion to betray him again, to hurt him twice as much. He couldn't take it, not here with nobody left. Not alone, in a strange place, with nothing to fall back on.

Wrathion can take a hint.

For once, he was just trying to offer comfort. He knows how it must seem, knows that the king is probably thinking he's just out to manipulate and scheme again--but the moment "Don't" crosses Anduin's lips, the dragon moves backwards. Almost as if he'd been burnt, really. (Not that fire is something that hurts, much. When it's actual fire, that is.) This? This hurts.

"I am sorry." Really, what else is there to say? Wrathion doesn't stop moving away until his back hits the wall, and then he stops. What he wants to do is get up, yank his sodden shirt back on, and leave. The only thing that stops him is that he promised Anduin that he wouldn't. Not on this night, at least. No matter how his stomach knots now, he won't leave.

The mattress he's sat on might be a bit worse for wear. He can hear the threadbare material of the covering tear beneath his fingers, but better that than anything else. He'll just have to let Anduin leave first. It's his fault anyway, he'll take the blame.

Anduin keeps his eyes down, only lifting them after a moment when he hears the faint rip of fabric.

His eyes travel up slowly, studies Wrathion a long moment in silence.

"Why did you come to Stormwind?" he says finally. "Why then? After all that time."

He didn't have to, after all. He could have let Magni go alone, pass on the message. Why did he come in person? Anduin has, on some level, suspicions. Still, he wants to hear what Wrathion says when asked. Wants to see if the answer feels honest. Wants to know if --

If he truly holds any power here. If Wrathion truly cares, or if it's all an illusion. A game of give and take. If it's really about what Wrathion wants and needs.

An unfortunate reality? Anduin tilts his head slowly, brow furrowing as he considers this.

"You couldn't change?"

Wear something... other armour? Or, at least, cover it in a cloak if he is... attached? If he has some personal connection to this attire? Anduin can understand that, his armour was a symbol of Stormwind, of his family -- but he wouldn't be averse to shedding it if it were to make him a target.

Thoma chuckles at the insinuation that he's even here to sell food and shakes his head gently.

"It's for free, courtesy of the Pleroma Aions. We all do our best to pitch in and help each other."

He can't heal at all nor is he that good at crafting weapons, but he can do a fair bit of other things –which includes cooking. Unwilling to let his allies starve, he doesn't mind putting in the work to make sure everyone gets fed regularly, though it's not always easy finding substantial protein. He'd gotten lucky that the fish were being feisty earlier.

"I'm Thoma, by the way. I arrived about two months ago, so I'm not a native, and it seems as though we got a new batch as of recently."

The look Wrathion turns on Anduin now is...perplexed. It does give him something to latch on to, other than just...wallowing. Or seething. Or both, by turns.

"Magni sought me out." Mostly for his knowledge--it was not as if Wrathion hadn't been seeking ways to defeat the last of the Old Gods. No one had believed they could be defeated until adventurers had slain C'thun beneath the sands of Ahn'Qiraj, and yet it had happened.

"When he asked me to accompany him to Stormwind...I did. I thought that it would be easier to ask me questions if I were there, instead of needing to wait for missives to reach me--or miss me. I didn't trust the Banshee."

As if anyone with sense would do that. Not to mention that Wrathion knew damn well that he was, by design, a difficult individual to find. Especially when he did not want to be. He waves a hand in a dismissive gesture before himself, now.

"Those were not the only reasons, though." And yet, he sighs, because the dragon knows damn well that he'd basically left again directly after. Not that it was his usual disappearing act--he'd gone to the Chamber of Heart to support Magni's efforts there, and more diametrically oppose N'zoth...

But he wonders, if he voiced more of his reasoning, whether or not it would actually matter. Anduin was High King of the Alliance by then. Likely his spies could have told him whatever he'd wanted to know. And Wrathion feels like everything he had said thus far was...just an excuse. So he stops, lifting a hand to rub it down his face and briefly tug on his beard. He looks back down at the floor, almost embarrassed.

"I meant to come back and apologize. I know I didn't. I'm bad at it, and wanting to doesn't make it happen. But...I tried to, again, here."

Even though he was probably rubbish at that, too.

"So you wouldn't have come back if Magni hadn't asked you?"

Is that what he's saying? That he came because Magni asked him? An apology he intended to give or not, so far he's suggesting he only returned to Stormwind because Magni asked him and he thought people might have questions.

Certainly, Anduin had plenty of questions. He still has plenty of questions.

Oh, well --

Anduin hesitates, offers Thoma a wry smile.

"So it seems," he agrees, and takes the food a little uncertainly. "... Thank you. Are there -- often new batches of arrivals?"

Is there a... chance, then, that others from his world might be here? In crystals? That he might see Jaina, or Genn, or any of the others again? Light, that would be something to hold onto at least.

By the Aspects. Every time he tries to speak as plainly as he can...though Wrathion supposes he hasn't tried hard enough. Time to make one last attempt, then, he supposes. He hadn't thought that he'd want to sleep, but this...this is exhausting him. Not physically...

"Magni only gave me a convenient excuse. I wanted to come back, though I could not be sure of my...welcome." Here, Wrathion snorts. "I wanted to attempt to apologize, but as I said, I failed at that. I wanted to see if I could repair the tatters of the first friendship I ever had." The dragon's voice has an edge that it usually does not. He is given to theatrics and posing, and even this is overly dramatic, but he has also been worn down. "I begin to see that perhaps I should not have bothered, because I have well and truly destroyed it. Perhaps I am my father's son, after all."

Wrathion is...fairly certain what he says has no bearing at all.

"This is the third that I know of. I came in with the second batch."

If there were more Aions even before the first batch, he hasn't met them nor has he heard much talk of them. It's likely there were, and they all ...died. Or went home. But Thoma is trying not to think of anything that bleak at the moment, especially when he's focused on helping Anduin adapt to his new circumstances.

"Usually, they find their way to Godsblood or...Achamoth, if they're unlucky."

Who knows how many were grabbed at the shrines and forced to drink the dark sludge by now?

"Once you've attuned properly, you should be safer, but the Kenoma found their way here not too long ago, so it's probably better to keep your guard up."

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