Two days after the most recent Grim meeting, Syreena sat at the head of the dark wooden table in the small meeting room. The room was in the guild hall, deep within the halls under the Alterac ruins.
The little rogue had spent the better part of the last day and a half sitting here, deep in thought about all that had happened in such a short time, and how her own personal plans would be changed as a result. A pair of guards stood outside the door to ensure she hadn't been disturbed.
Now, she finally stirred, only to activate the Grim communications on her hearthstone. "Dreadweavers, report to the officer meeting room," she rasped.
Canaie is the first to arrive, poking her large hooded face through the door. "Syreena, this is about the Commander isn't it?"
A scuffle erupted outside the meeting. Loud voices speaking orcish were muffled by the thick stone walls, but a loud crack split the air and one of the guards stumbled back into the chamber, his face slashed with a nasty gash.
Khorvis Bloodstar marched in behind the guard's cowering retreat, still barking. "Do not argue with me again, whelp! My pass do NOT be revoked and I DO be a bloody Dreadweaver in service to the new Comma... Shadowblade."
The Lash hung uncoiled in the old orc's gauntlet, clearly the source of the damage, and writhed against the stone floor in its own uncanny semi-sentience.
"Now, what do this be about?" He spat, Syreena in his sights.
Syreena nodded to Canai, both in greeting and in answer to her question. Her attention shifted to the beaten guard as he stumbled in. She eyed Khorvis a moment before looking back to the guard and motioning him to return to his post. "Leave the door open for now."
"Lasher," she said in her usual curt greeting to Khorvis. "Have a seat. We wait for Riplie and Zalanjo."
A raspy voice mumbling can be heard against the sounds of waterfalls and waves, animals in the distance, and wild tropical birds. Zalanjo’s mind begins to focus. Coming out of a trance as he stared off into the distance sitting in the warm sand. The troll puts down his fishing rod and unbuckles one of his pouches. Reaching for the stone amongst the other small trinkets that surrounded it. Unable to make the words coming from the humming device until it breaches the top.
“..ficer meeting room.”
The rock goes quiet in his hand after those few words. He places it back into a pouch as he stands up from the grown. Brushing the sand from his pants. The grains falling to the ground as the waves slowly crawl onto the shore and slide back out.
“I guess de boss lady be wantin’ ah chat. Okie dokie den.”
The troll turns away from the water to face the lush green jungle. As he begins to walk away he steps over a body, blood-soaked covered in sand. The head of the body can be seen with a fist sized rock nestled within.
“Ya can be havin’ yer fishin’ pole back dere dwarf. I dun’ tink it be workin’ too good anyway. I need ta find ah finga wiggla in town. De boat would take took long ta get back. Boss lady wouldn’ like dat.”
An hour passes as the troll steps out of a portal into Silvermoon City. The troll crinkles his nose as the smells of the city crash his senses. Remebering why he prefers to avoid the gaudy place and it’s sensations. Zalanjo makes his way outside to the nearby wyvern rider and rents a beast for travel.
Time goes by and snow begins to fall. The troll nearing his destination.
As he lands outside the hall a guard can be seen attempting to nurse a gash on his face. Zalanjo smirks to himself as he makes his way into the building. Crossing the threshold he can already see that Canaie and Khorvis have made it before him.
“Ay dere boss lady. Whatchu wan?”
A slow deliberate step rings through the hallways, a stealth approach is clearly not the intent.
Riplie reaches the doorway into the entry into the room where the others have gathered, stopping to lean against the doorway looking at the others gathered "I can't recall, is punctual fashionable, or is it late?" finishing her sentence she moves forward to take a seat at the table
"What is the occasion?"
As Zalanjo and Riplie finally arrived, Syreena smirked at the latter's question. "Do I look like I am knowledgeable about fashion, elf?"
Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the doorway to inform the guards the meeting was not to be disturbed unless they heard the officers summon anyone else over the hearthstone.
"I'm sure you can guess why I've gathered you all," she rasped as she moved back to the other end of the table. "The Commander is....indisposed....for an undetermined amount of time. For those of you who could not attend the last meeting, when Awatu arrived, it was clear he was gravely injured. The best I can understand it is the corruption we've seen all over Azeroth, had attached itself to his armor to weaken him. He's been fighting it since way back when we fought G'huun.
"We cut the armor from him, but...." Syreena paused, remembering the sight of the mighty Tauren looking so weak and vulnerable. "He has been taken to Thunder Bluff to rest and heal as well as he can.
"In the meantime, he left me in charge of The Grim. But before he did that, he mentioned the idea of a Council to rule here, instead of just one person." She looked at each of them. "Those of us in this room, along with anyone else we decide is needed, would make up that Council. Thoughts?"
"A Council, like the Horde is now?" a skeptical looking Canaie said. "But who would really be in charge?"
"A council? It seems that would be his politeness" Riplie leans back against her chair "He saw no one truely fit to succeed, so we all carry a small burden of leadership."
"Dat be makin' sense." said Zalanjo
The troll makes his way to the table. Pulling the chair out and crouching on top of it. Feet firmly planted on the hard wooden seat. Knees extending above the table.
"Do any uh ya even wan ta be in charge? I know I dun' want it." The troll says while scratching his chest and beginning to let out a yawn.
"I guess we would all be in charge together." She shrugged at Zalanjo. No, she didn't want to be in charge again. It was hard, thankless, lonely work, and she didn't want it again. But she wasn't willing to hand full control over to anyone either, and Khorvis hadn't said anything yet. She didn't want him to be in charge by himself either.
A second loud crack split the air of the room, yet this time it came not from the Lash, but from Khorvis's nostrils in the form of a snort. From his eyes, both biological and engineered, the disdain was clear.
The orc was clearly struggling with something as he tried to articulate his vitriol. Was it that he saw a chance to grasp at a shred power? Or perhaps his conservatism would get the best of his avarice. "A council of equals? The Grim has always been guided by a strong, singular hand. Why break with tradition now? Just because the leaders of the Horde do be showing Azeroth their weakness does not mean we should do the same."
Khorvis finished his thought with a cunning grin that split only half of his rotten mug. "Or may be you do feel yourself too weak for the burden, Shadowblade."
Yellow glowing eyes stared at the orc for a full minute, unmoving, unblinking.
"That is the second time in as many days you've questioned my strength, Khorvis," she rasped as tendrils of shadow slithered around her form. "Are you challenging me? Or are you simply that ignorant to just how heavy that burden is, since you have never had to bear it?"
"Never have I needed to, before now," he retorted. "Phaw, but if the Commander does name you his successor with one side of his mouth and casts doubt with the other, then we do best to heed his wisdom, aye?" Khorvis finally took a seat, but never let his eyes leave those of the rogue's. "Not a challenge. We will strike a bargain."
"Good," she said curtly, the shadow tendrils dissipating. She didn't comment on the first part of what he said. She had her own doubts about that very thing. After staring at Khorvis a moment longer, she again looked to the group.
"Is everyone in agreement then, that The Grim will be run by us as equals, as a council?"
Canaie finally takes her seat and sighs heavily. "Yes, I suppose so. It is what Awatu wanted."
Zalanjo can be seen picking dirt between his finger nails as the forsaken and orc have a heated moment. He ponders to himself. “Me tinks de Lasha jus’ wants ta speak of powa rada den wield it.”
“What we do ta decide fo’ tings den, huh? We vote? What ‘bout when de vote ties? I be likin’ de idea of ah Trial by Combat ta decide tings den.”
The troll grins to himself. Testing the end of his left tusk with his fingers.
“What we all be tinkin’?”
"So then, what do we do when one of the little soldiers comes up and asks for a order from Zalanjo there, and another gets instruction from the Shade and it is in conflict? Do we gather for every little detail?" Riplie's tone is hard to read. "4 is also a very small number for a council. This is more a posse"
Syreena shrugged at Riplie. "We could do as we do now. Canaie can keep planning our attacks against the Alliance. You continue to manage our forces fighting whatever other enemies are out there. Khorvis and Zalanjo can continue dealing with applicants and supplicants. I'll continue to make sure the guild hall is kept in order and help in whichever area needs help. We will need someone to act as delegate to the War Council now though."
"To be honest with all of you here, the war against the Alliance has gone badly under my watch." a dejected looking druid said. "Perhaps it would be better if we found somebody else to replace me and maybe my skills could be off better use elsewhere."
"De war wen' plenty fine till dis new treaty ting. Anoda treaty. But dat be up to you I be guessin'. If not you den who?"
Canaie looked around the room and said "I am open to your suggestions but perhaps the priest Lupinum would make a fine choice. And he has held that title before."
Syreena frowned at Canaie. "Lupinum is too busy off drinking somewhere too often to give him such a responsibility. Pick another."
Canaie nodded at Syreena in agreement and said "What about that demon hunter, Feyde? She has the skill and desire for this."
"A lush or an elf," the rogue complained. She looked at the others for any input and then sighed, lifting her hearthstone again. "Feyde, report to the officer's meeting room. Canaie has something to tell you."
"If dat be de choices. Between de drunk or de elf." Zalanjo grumbles to himself. "Bah, elfs."
Riplie just looks at them as they complain about elves, rolling her eyes.
Two fel fire orbs light up brightly in the depths of the demon hunters webs sending the many legged shadows scurrying. "Something to tell me?" Feyde asks the cat size spider she had been slowly picking the legs off of. "I didn't actually kill anyone's pets at the meeting what could the problem be?" Tossing the half dead creature aside she hopped up and cheerily said "Coming!" into the hearthstone. As she left her room there was a explosion of activity as all her pets descended on the injured spider, silenced as the door clicked shut.
"Maybe I am not killing enough. That has to be it. They don't know about all the spys I have been hunting down in Orgrimmar."
After giving the guards at the door a once over noting one was roughed up she let herself in. Her clawed hands twitched as she assessed if she was in trouble or not. Maybe it was from the blood outside the door. A mischievous smile couldn't help but inch it's way onto her face. "Is everything alright?"
"No, but please come in and take a seat." said Canaie looking up at the demon hunter. "We were just discussing forming the new council as per the Commander's wishes and that a 4 member one doesn't make much sense."
Feyede slowly goes over to take a seat. A more curious expression replacing the mischief.
Syreena remains silent, just watching the demon hunter intently.
Zalanjo continues to mess the point of his tusk.
Khorvis drums his mechanical fingers against the table with a robotic rythem too precise for orc nature. The tapping stops as Feyde sits, but the whirring of servos continues to accompany his gaze as he turns to watch the felhuntress.
"No, four do be too few. The Shadowblade do be in a -sharing- mood."
Feyde grows very still. Something usually reserved for when she has focused in on prey. For now it is so she can focus in on the room. Hard to tell who has drawn the most attention with her blindfolded eyes. The lot of them bright life forces natural and unnatural against the dull stone walls to her sight. "Does this mean the shared power is being extended to me?" She liked the idea of power over people even just the idea of it. Now even the bugs under the carpet. A fly on the wall. All bright stars twinkling in her focused vision. Waiting for any sign that was not what they meant.
"Yes, it is." the druid said. "I was considering stepping down and you seem like the ideal replacement. What say you?"
Four Syreena looked around the room, silently counting....Canaie, Riplie, Zalanjo, Khorvis, and herself. The little rogue then stood up from her seat and stood at the table to hopefully make herself a bit more noticeable.
Zalanjo looks over to Syreena as she stood up. "Was up boss lady? Ya be lookin' like ya tryin' ta be more noticeable."
She grumbled something about the wisdom of making people her equals who can't even count to five, before looking back at Feyde for her answer.
"If no one is objecting" No one she needs to challenge. "I accept"
"I be fine wit dis. Ya may be an elf. But ya fight hard. De scalp hunt showed me dat."
"Fine, take a seat and join us." She looked at Canaie. "What will you do now?"
Feyde makes herself more comfortable crossing her legs as she sits on the chair. Looking far more relaxed now.
"I have considered retirement, maybe some quite place in Mulgore. But no, not yet. I think my skills can still be useful." Canaie then looked at Riplie "We talked about this before briefly but what do you think now?"
"Retirement?! Bah! Dat for de old ones. Ya dun' look dat old ta me."
"Nobody's retiring right now." said Syreena.
"There do be no retiring from the Mandate. Unless you do speak of your own passing, Sister Canaie." For once, Khorvis softened the deep furrows in his brow, giving the Tauren a concerned look. "Something no one at this council does wish." Then the familiar glare snapped back with renewed creases, the orc having realized that he was agreeing with Syreena.
"Canaie has been valuable at relaying what the soldiers have been doing when Im not in the battle." Riplie smirks slightly "Perhaps you can retire into keeping up with the battles against the threats against Azeroth instead of the Alliance "
"So it is decided then?" said Canaie smiling in Riplie's direction.
Banging his fist on the table, Khorvis grunted, "May be it do be decided upon our roles. But when matters of consensus do arise, how do we address a hut divided?"
"The Commander did be a cautious leader, but when a decision was required, his judgement was final," the warrior echoed Riplie's earlier sentiment.
Riplie slams her fists onto the table, making sure it was louder than the orcs slamming. "We either make the council odd numbered, or.." Riplie pauses, then speaks pointing to Syreena "Her vote decides a tie. After all, the mantle was handed to her to make the council."
The little demon hunter lets out a snort of a laugh at Riplie's slam. It had crossed her mind to slam her own fist into the table in an attempt to break it with some burst of fel.... but decided against it. Instead she tried to play off the laugh as a cough, nodding. "I can agree to Syreen's vote breaking ties."
Zalanjo lightly knocks on the table and snickers to himself. "I dun' care edder way. If we wan' ah odd numba group den who do we do for de seventh memba? If we got no in mind de I dun' see ah reason not ta have de boss make de final say."
"Fine," Syreena agrees. "We'll see how often that actually happens and appoint another person if we think it's necessary. Awatu attended all War Council meetings and kept up to date on what they were doing. Who would like that job now?"
"There were many times that I joined the Commander in such Councils. They do know my face there, and will remember it when I do return." Khorvis intoned, no longer objecting to Syreena's seat at the head of the Dread Coven now that he was outnumbered.
She nodded to Khorvis. "And of course any of us, or other Grim, are always welcome to attend as well. One last change.....
"The Dreadweavers will be no more. We will all be Irredeemables."
Unsheathing the blackrock dagger from his belt, the same blade which skinned Awatu in the removal of the corrupted armor and still bore stains of Tauren blood, Khorvis held out his organic palm and nicked a small cut. His own blood, tainted as it might be with whatever foulness Pincus had injected into the orc in years past, joined that of the fallen Commander's.
"I do think redemption is not something any of us came here for." He passed the dagger to his left.
Canaie grabbed the offered dagger and looked at it from every angle. "This does not seem wise or safe, but if you insist." She then drew the dagger across her palm and passed it over to Syreena.
The Shadowblade smirked. Leave it to a healer to complain about something not being safe. She drew the blade across her hand, adding her blood and ichor to the dagger, then passed it to the next person.
Feyde takes the blade licking her lips. It took some pleasure to get through the scaled skin on her palm. The wet blood of the others hissed and steamed as the demon hunter's fel blood was add. Her blood burning at the other liquids on the blade as it was passed along to the next person.
Zalanjo takes the dagger from Feyde. He takes a moment to look at the dagger and everyone else who moments ago used it against themselves.
"We be turnin' inta some kinda cult now? What's wit de hand cutting?"
Before anyone could answer the troll he proceeds to bring it to his palm.
"Ya'll be weird."
The troll slides the blade across his hand and passes the dagger on.
Riplie takes the dagger from the troll, without hesitation she slides the blade across her palm adding her blood to the dagger. She passes the blade back to Khorvis, as her palm slowly continues to bleed.
"A literal blood oath to the mandate, I like your thinking"
"Then it is done. We are a council now. All of us equals." She glanced at Khorvis, remembering the name he gave it. "The Dread Coven."
She paused, and then added with a motion to the door. "Unless anyone has anything else, we're done here for now."
Before Syreena had even finished her last sentence, Khorvis was on his feet, dagger resheathed and dripping onto his legplates, and marching for the door. First order of business: retake his quarters in the High Inquisitor's den.
"I guess dat be it den. I be goin' back ta Stranglethorn. Be seein' ya den."
The troll places his leg into the ground and stands up as much as he normally would. He starts out the door wondering found the body he left on the beach. More importantly, if his new fishing pole would still be there.
((Taken from Discord RP and lightly edited for clarity))
