Isaera, Outside...

Matthean hears you out, and lets you go without complaint. You sense no malice from him, despite your points of disagreement.

Zalael hears your injunction to apologize, and gives a sagging nod of his head. "Yes. Well... Well, you're right... But I'm not so worried. We fight a lot, like that. It's not always me who strikes first. We'll work it out. We always do."

On the more general topic, the wrongness of this direction of elven motion, he remains sullen, and is glad to have your agreement. "I can't believe Prince Kael'thas has just... given up on his legacy like that. Refusing to be the new Sunstrider king isn't humility, it's cowardice. We need singular unity taking back our homeland, not... this. A part of the people combing the orc world for imagined mana, another part throwing themselves behind Lor'Themar, and others... I imagine, looking to the Ranger-General Vereesa, who did not seem party to this. When we take back Silvermoon, who will rule there? Lor'Themar, king of the blood elves?" He grimaces, and shakes his head with a sigh. "It's wrong, like you said. I will fight when the time comes to take back our land - but I will not call myself Sin'dorei, or kneel to a regent who does. I am Quel'dorei, like my father." Without prophetic vision, it is hard to know if this is stubbornness in the face of inevitability or a principled conviction that will one day be seen as righteous. The rain is picking up now, plastering down the warrior's hair to his face. He glances to you, then back to his chapter's tent, where his brother awaits a mending of this rift. He makes a minimal gesture towards that tent, saluting your initial encouragement to apologize as he makes to go do it now.

"I'd better... Well. It was very fine dancing with you, Isaera Runescribe. I'll write." Then he steals away into his fellows' tent as the rain goes from showering to pouring, and you are driven to consider a similar retreat.

Everyone Else, Inside the Ratchet Chapter Tent

Roshorn is a simple furbolg; the kind of wisdom he needs to commune with the spirits is not the same as the social savvy required to navigate complex interpersonal webs. All the same, he is not a fool. He knows when he is being mocked, even in another language, and his amber eyes watch Marion as she scowls and parades her discontent. He does not seem to hold it against her - and perhaps just as well, for he has very little leverage throwing himself on the mercy of the Ratchet Chapter. He watches Jakkari hopefully as the troll offers a more soothing flow of incomprehensible language to him, the diplomat clearly acting as his advocate. He growls a Kalimag addendum to Jakk'ari.

"I have none of the riches Horde and Alliance crave to pay your companions; but mine are not without their own skills. Whatever has befallen them, they will be grateful to be delivered; and we will certainly owe your clan a debt of like action."