World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[MrAbdiel]

Zachary puffs, and scratches the back of his neck as he considers their situation. He is out of breath, even though his feet have not moved from their locked upright firing stance for the entire combat; the sheer jackhammer relentlessness of the mortal threat has robbed him of his now slowly recovering cool. He looks over their party - miraculously, they have taken no injuries except the one transposed upon Jakk'ari as a mercy to the broken horned ogre; and even that seems to have come right by dint of the troll healing factor, now. Ultimately, his eyes rest on Felix, whose back is straight and shoulders back with the thrill of genuine battle for the right reasons. Before the combat broke out, he was a shattered crater of boy; and as they make their way home with the corpses of his friends in tow, he is likely to descend into that darkness again. But now, for this short aftermath, the cadet gets to rise above the butcher's bill and experience at least a partial vindication of his valorous instincts. He had gone into the swamp with his friends to do battle with the demons - the enemies of life, and peace. The cost was high, but he had run toward that battle instead of away from it, when the moment arose. He had struck at the demons with allies at his back, and the demons were scattered and broken, and he was standing; and perhaps when the face of his departed friends visit him in dreams with questions about what, exactly, their death had bought, he would have an answer that partially satisfied.

It's clear the veteran does not want to truncate the experience of the boy's victory. As a soldier, Felix is destined to lose a great deal - there is a sacred value to the countervailing celebration of victory. Zachary tempers his gut response, with this judgement.

"...We shouldn't linger, I think. Many of these ogres are still drunk, if they're not wounded or grieving. They're not in the best frame of mind to judge fairly why we tampered with their holy place, and shortly after showed up to join the battle. Something for diplomats to do, I think - and skilled as you are, Jakk'ari, our mission is to get Felix - and these others - back to Theramore. Mor'Lag is having a ... meaningful moment over there, I think. We should let them have that moment, and they've put in a good word for us to parlay with their leadership, since we still don't know exactly how all this happened - but after that I think we should get moving. The ogres need some time to recover. This could have been much worse."

Felix, who is invincible, hops neatly back through the palisade to stand near enough to overhear Mor'Lag and their conversation with the ogres. Zachary remains furtive and vigilant, but stays back with the party outside of the wall.

In the distance, the towering ogre clan leader has dispatched his opponent, and is now making his way toward the edge of the village from which the mystical blasts had emitted, and to which now a certain amount of ogrish commotion - Brokenhorn and six or seven others (depending on if you count heads or bodies) regarding Mor'Lag with interest, and fascination, and a slowly dissolving mistrust of the outsider.

"I am Oro Manflinger," intones the broken horned ogre in response; the citing of this name in the ogre tongue immediately conjouring images of projectilized footmen, presumably in the second war. "And I witness you, Mor'Lag Voidfist. I have seen your strength, and will speak to its truth. The other elders will certainly wish to know what happened here - and I dare to suspect they will recognise your bid. What a horror, to befall us in such an hour - and what fortune, that you and your small companions might have been here. I, and others, would be dead, if you had not. As for the others, and the parlay - well. Call them forth, if you will. I have seen the troll, and the child of man; but the others, my eyes are too old to make out."

Spoiler: Perception, DC:10

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A ripple of concern seems to be rolling through the ogres; some of them are growing alarmed at something...

Spoiler: Perception, DC:15

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...Something in the sky. They're hard to see, against the now diminishing storm cloud and the smoke from the infernal's arson, but dark shapes, huge and small, are flitting across the sky. You are struck with the gut-freezing instinct that the danger has not passed after all - and you have seconds to prepare for whatever is about to happen.