Grim Views

The orc slammed an empty tankard down on the bar and looked at her expectantly. This interview was off to a start, Filora thought to herself.

"Right," she said. "Here."

Rather than buying something from the unimpressive selection of the tavern, she pulled a flask of Darkmoon Special Reserve out of her pack and handed it over. She watched as he unscrewed the top, sniffed it suspiciously while eyeing her, then began to chug. Notably, Filora didn't actually know if it was poisoned; it had been a repayment from someone, somewhat extorted, so there was a small chance it was. Guess she'd find out. Or rather, the orc would.

"So, tell me about yourself," she said to Khorvis.

He continued to drink until the flask was empty, taking longer than most would consider socially acceptable. Then he chucked the flask into the hearth with an explosion of volatile flame. Filora looked back to him.

"Nice throw," she said.

He grunted, sneering. The helm mostly hid his face, but she was definitely getting the impression he wasn't thrilled to be here. Oh well; she'd have an interview to report one way or another, even if it started, 'This orc is too consumed by his hatred of the Alliance to engage in idle chatter...'

"Not a fan of elves?" she inquired.

Khorvis spat on the ground and finally spoke. "Don't give a shit or piss one way or the other about elves."

She waited, this time, and eventually he was the one to speak again.

"What is it that you want to know? I am a simple orc with few preten .. pret ... dumb ideas," he said.

"Tell me what you did before the Grim," Filora said. "What made you who you are?"

He thumped his chest drunkenly. "War makes an orc what he is, woman. War and scars!"

She ignored the way he addressed her. "Tell me about the wars you've fought in, then, and your scars," she said.

The orc chuckled to himself, unamused. He removed his helm and feedbag, revealing a face slashed with myriad scars and welts. Filora simply looked at him, waiting for him to respond. Seeming to grow off-balance, he snorted and shrugged.

"I came through the portal and rode that wave all the way to Northrend," he told her.

Filora nodded, making mental notes. "Did you belong to any guilds before the Grim, or were you always Grim?"

He rolled his shoulders, still discomfited. Filora belatedly realized she was being rather clinical about this. She didn't mean to be; he was just the thing she needed to do right then.

"Aye, a few," he said. "The Kor'kron Vanguard called my name, soon after we landed on Kalimdor. Piss and inflated dreams, that bunch. Got run right out of Orgrimmar."

"Hmm. That was before my time in the Horde," Filora offered. Sharing something of her own was probably a better alternative to quizzing him further.

It seemed to help, because he went on. "I taught a stint of battle history at the Silvermoon University. Seems an old veteran's mouth has a use."

She tried to picture him before a class of students, lecturing, and failed.

"Purge it from your mind, sister," he said, as though he knew what she were thinking.

"Uh, okay," she said, and waited for him to continue. He got a new drink from the barkeep and took a long draught. It was ale, and not the good kind, Filora noted. She wondered if he'd be showing ill effects if the Darkmoon had been poisoned yet.

Interrupting her thoughts, he spoke. "It was not until the Warchief called us to that frozen hell in Northrend. My old war comrade, Tuskinar, brought me to the Mandate."

"That name sounds familiar..." Filora said, trying to rack her mind. "I might have known him." She couldn't remember from where.

"He rides with the Insane One now," Khorvis said. "I cannot stomach her voice for too long." He looked ill.

Filora didn't ask. "So what made you decide to take up the Mandate?" she inquired instead.

He stared into his mug. "I lost a brother on the slopes of Blackrock Mountain to pinkskin lances. There is nothing they have to bargain in return other than their lives. All of them."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Filora said, because that was what people said.

In response, he snorted and threw back the ale. "What of you, elf?" he said. "Why should you ride at my side?"

She should have expected him to throw a few questions back her way. Still, she didn't have much of an answer, because the way she saw it, it wasn't much of a question. "Why not?" she asked simply.

He raised an eyebrow, swaying back and forth on his stool. "Because you are going to die. This road only ends in a bloody fel ridden grave, woman."

To that, she had something to say. "We're all going to die, protesting, bargaining, screaming, in denial. What's your point?"

He shrugged, then offered her a sip from his frothy, spit-sloshed, reeking ale mug. "Right you are, lass. Drink with me."

Filora looked at the mug, then the orc. "You don't have any of that Dalaran red left, do you?"

In response, he shoved the mug at her, shaking his head. She steeled herself, took the mug, and took a sip. It was about as bad as she expected. Handing it back, she wiped her mouth. Khorvis nodded with approval and finished it off with relish. "You have the right nerves for this game, elf," he said to her.

"Thank you," she said. Mentally, she reviewed what she learned from the interview. Mostly: He's an orc. Could she spin that to Atticus' satisfaction?

"Get out of here," he said gruffly. "I will drink with my brother, now."

The orc turned to the bar. Filora figured that that would have to do. "See you around," she said, and walked away.

Dreadweaver Atticus Grace,

I sought out the orc Khorvis for my first interview. He seemed a straightforward, and I say without intending insult, simple, sort of person, and therefore a good place to start when it came to the spectrum of people who make up The Grim. I was not wrong.

He told me of his history, and the places he'd been before The Grim. He also told me why he joined The Grim: an unalleviating hatred for the Alliance, incited by the death of his brother. It is perhaps the most basic of motivations, but it is one that will carry one to the death if need be -- or "to a bloody, fel-ridden grave" as he said.

My family was destroyed by the Scourge, but I still have a brother; and the Alliance is a threat to him as it is every member of the Horde.


Filora Livlet

Leaving the report in Atticus' mailbox, Filora briefly considered reaching out to Zuffid. She hadn't seen him in years. He might be dead already, for all she knew. After a moment she shrugged and wandered off, not unduly worried about it.

Filora,

Khorvis be a drunken lout, but true Grim despite that. If you have plucked the truth out from between his slurred words, you have become wiser and more valuable to the mandate.

Seek your second interview.

Peace,
Attie

On a whim, Filora composed a short letter. If she'd thought about it, she might have realized the second person she chose to interview was actually because that person made her somewhat uneasy, and a part of her wanted to deny it was so; but Filora wasn't the type for self-reflection, so she just dropped in the letter without much thought and awaited a response.

It went surprisingly well, all things considered.

They met up outside the Shrine, and Filora suggested they go to Silvermoon. Drinn was evidently surprised by the location. "Didn't quite expect that," the dark-haired rogue commented as they took their beverages back to the table within the inn.

"I'm a blood elf," Filora said, nonplussed.

"Yes.. you are, but that hardly means much these days. We're not popular, even amongst our own."

"Fair enough," Filora said. She poured them glasses from the bottle of Dalaran noir. Drinn looked at the centerpiece on the table, a large roast pig.

"Pig's a bit large," the rogue said after a short silence.

Filora gathered that the other woman was, at times, at a bit of a loss in social situations. She smiled to put her at ease, and said, "Thank you for your time, by the way. I know you're quite busy. I never see you around unless you're conducting business."

"I lack when it comes to social graces," Drinn said. At least she knew it.

"Good; that means I don't have to worry about them so much." Filora grinned companionably and sipped at her wine.

"No, I'd prefer if we spoke plainly," Drinn agreed.

Yes; this interview would be easy, Filora thought. "So how did you come to join the Grim?" she asked.

Drinn settled back, holding her glass with both hands. Her gaze fixed on the Paladin. "I've been asked that rather recently... it's not something I've thought on in a long time." She pursed her lips a moment as she chose her words. "Happenstance would be the best way to describe it. I was young and barely stepping far from the city. When I was able I began to enter the Gulch regularly.. I learned from murmurs if I enjoyed such a pastime I should seek out the Grim. So I did."

Filora hadn't realized another recent Supplicant had chosen to interview Drinn as well. She hoped that didn't mean Drinn would have less patience for her. Filora would need to keep her talking until she found a convincing concept to present to Atticus. "How long ago was that?" she asked politely. Drinn looked a bit older than her, she thought.

Drinn sipped her wine and rolled her tongue in her mouth after the flavor. "About seven seasons ago. I was dormant for a time.. but my original joining would have been about then."

Filora nodded, thinking. "And the Mandate of the Grim -- did it ever give you cause for reflection?"

Drinn's lips quirked into an almost smile. She approved of the question. "The Mandate?" She shook her head. "No, not the Mandate."

"We sin'dorei have always seen the merits of ruthlessness, haven't we?" Filora mused. Best to invoke common ground.

"It is.. why we are.. what we are."

Filora didn't get a chance to parse that answer, as a trio of Silvermoon City guards ran through the inn. She blinked, and started to say something, but just then, shouting from just outside could be heard. It was in Common. Then the party of Alliance was on them.

If they'd been prepared, they still would have been outnumbered. Even Drinn was taken by surprise, distracted as she was by the conversation. Assaulted and battered, they beat a retreat outside the inn. The marauders moved on and the two elves conferred on a plan.

"Tell me, do you pray to gods or do you endeavor to be one?" Drinn asked.

It took a moment for Filora to figure out what the rogue meant. "The former, I suppose," she said. She was a healer by vocation.

"Then you will need to keep at a distance. I will take us further into the city. You find some place on the side, up high if you can. And then pray."

It was good advice. Filora didn't take its being given amiss. "I will do that," she said.

"I will shroud us once outside."

They moved in shadows. In the courtyard with the fountain, Drinn paused.

"I hear something."

There came more shouting. Why did the Alliance always shout the same thing over and over again? Filora wondered.

"Hide yourself," Drinn instructed her. "I'll scout."

Filora did so, ducking behind a large tree. Drinn returned before long, empty-handed. "Do you think they went for the Regent?" Filora asked.

Drinn shook her head. "No, they weren't sound enough as a party. This is a game."

It did appear to be, as the Alliance had left the city, only littering a few more corpses of guards about. Filora thought Drinn seemed disappointed.

"Brewfest does bring the drunk and brawling out," the rogue commented as they stood outside the gates.

Filora chuckled. "There is that." Just then, the High Inquisitor's voice came over the hearthstone, inquiring if anyone else would be attending the Horde's own celebration that evening. "Oh, there's a Grim gathering going on," Filora said. "Perhaps we should attend? Syreena would be pleased, I think."

Drinn's expression fell to neutral. "I am sure. Social.. graces.."

"And there, we can recruit others to join us in returning the favor the Alliance paid us," Filora remarked.

Drinn looked at her with some interest. "You want to go to an Alliance city?"

"Why not?"

"Name your city. We do our conversating there."

Brewfest was about as ridiculous as one would expect. At one point there were raining frogs. Then Makul the orc and Feorn the old elf got into a brawl.

They elected to use fists only, and the monk even took off his fist weapon, so it dragged on interminably. It was a sorry sight to see. "Someone, please, pick up a weapon," Filora said. She didn't drink much, but if this was to be the entertainment, she might have to.

"It would settle this faster!" Syreena agreed.

"Settle what?" Feorn protested as he ducked a swing from the orc. "He just started punching me."

"Settle him punching you," Filora said sensibly.

"Oh."

Then the Dark Iron dwarves came. They dutifully flung their mugs and tried to defend the kegs, but with Makul and Feorn still brawling in the middle of it, they weren't successful in turning the Dark Iron back. In the midst, Drinn murmured to Filora that she'd want to take off after they were done with... whatever this was. Filora agreed.

The two brawlers eventually put on weapons and started using spells, and Feorn bested the orc handily. Filora cheered. "Finally," Syreena said.

"So. What was that all about?" Feorn asked his opponent.

"What else? Fun!" the orc responded.

"Whatever floats your totem, or whatever," the old elf grunted. Some teasing him about his age and creaky knees followed.

Another orc showed up. His name was Cobrak, and he was interested in joining the Grim. Filora made note, but she was eager to slip away before Drinn grew disinterested. She got Feorn to come, and the old elf called Fhenrir of all people to join them. Apparently, the tauren owed the merc a favor.

They ended up in the train station outside of Ironforge, but the Alliance they'd poked along the way didn't seem to want to follow. They waited around awhile to see if any would come down the tram. Filora stepped onto it at one point, curious.

"Nonono. You mug them as they get off. You don't get on the train," Feorn said. "What is this? Your first time?"

Filora stepped back off before it sped away. Fhenrir grunted. "Seems like the plan isn't clear," the big tauren said.

"We have a plan?" Feorn said. He considered. "I thought we were here to mug people getting off the tram."

Drinn laughed under her breath. "Well, we can certainly do that. But no, there wasn't a plan. Sort of an impromptu little skip over."

"No one yet, though," Filora noted.

They decided Drinn would try to lure some Alliance out. As the other three waited, Feorn gave Filora some advice. "Paladin lady! Hide! Look nonchalant, that way they might not pick up on the threat right away." He sat down on the bench like he was waiting for a train.

Filora had thought her spot was good to the side of the doorway, but she dutifully moved behind a pillar as the monk was positioned. "I'm not sure that'll work," she said dubiously.

"Just look casual!" Feorn insisted.

But when Drinn returned, the Alliance still didn't follow. They decided that the recent melding of worlds was keeping them separated. Not wanting to be cowardly and hiding where the Alliance couldn't reach, they moved into Ironforge and started some trouble.

At one point, Feorn snatched the weapon off an Alliance who was flying through on his mount. "Nice grab," Fhenrir commented. They fought several others until they were forced to retreat. Filora decided they'd repaid the Alliance for their earlier visit well enough. They discussed what to do next.

"Well... we can do that.. talking thing.. people like. At least it's a nice back drop?" Drinn said.

"I wouldn't mind finishing the interview," Filora said. She glanced at Feorn and smiled. He still needed to do his own interviews at some point. "You can't have her, Feorn, she's mine," she added, just to be meddlesome.

"You can keep her! I'm through with elf women!" Feorn declared.

"So, what do you fancy, then? Trolls? Orcs? Gnomes?" Filora glanced at Fhenrir. "Tauren?"

Fhenrir gave her an unamused look. Feorn said, "Ha. Funny. Peace and quiet mostly."

Drinn cleared her throat and glanced away to hide a brief smile. "And looting corpses..." she said.

"If you don't loot the corpses, you don't get their stuff," Feorn said.

Drinn and Feorn got into a brief debate about why a monk would be concerned with material possessions. Eventually, Filora said, "Anyway, you two boys should scoot along. Drinn and I have talking to do."

Fhen glared at her. Feorn snorted. Drinn folded her arms and smirked.

"Favor repaid then, Feorn?" Fhenrir turned to the monk.

"Fine, I suppose. Not your fault the dragons wanted revenge," Feorn said.

The two left. Drinn looked at Filora. "And then there were two," the rogue said.

"We can sit," Filora offered.

"Let's go down a bit. I like the water."

((Finish this!))

[[ I'm keeping Atticus in suspense. ]]

They started walking down the tunnel. The tram sped by several times, back and forth, without any sign of a passenger. It seemed it was rarely used these days, what with portals linking most every city to another.

"Well, this by far has been the most interesting interview yet," Drinn commented as they walked.

Filora was pleased to have achieved noteworthiness. "It wasn't my intention, but I'm not objecting," she said modestly.

"I think if people are going to ask me questions, I'm going to insist on an Alliance city from now on," Drinn said thoughtfully. Filora laughed, and Drinn glanced at her with teeth flashing in a grin.

"I like it. Who else interviewed you?" Filora asked.

"The new hunter. Small frail thing. Quezt."

Filora remembered when she and Quezt had gone into Tol Barad and assaulted some of the monsters of the keep. The timidity of the hunter had piqued her interest. "Oh, Fortuna," she said, remembering Quezt's first name. "What happened to her eye?" It had been lacking at the Grim's anniversary meeting.

Drinn lifted her shoulders into a small shrug. "Haven't the slightest. She has a rather nasty hole in her chest.. but I think that's what did her in. First time, anyhow."

As Filora squirreled away that information, her next words came out naturally, instead of being motivated by a calculated desire to keep the conversation flowing. "My father came back from the dead," she said. "It didn't change him much, though."

"Your father is a Forsaken?" Drinn inquired.

"No, a death knight." She wondered why she'd said that.

"Ah. Close enough."

They walked a little while farther before Drinn spoke again.

"If we were to identify with any other race, I would say it's the Forsaken..."

"I can see that. But I'm planning to just not die," Filora informed her.

"Usually a sound tactic." Drinn seemed amused again.

"You seem to be good at tactics. You gave me sound advice, earlier."

Drinn shrugged again. "Unfortunately we didn't get to test it. But I'll take the compliment. Tactics are sort of my.. thing."

"It was common sense, when I thought about it. I'm just used to being part of large groups -- one of many. Don't really have to worry about being the one to attract attention."

"Is that what you prefer, large groups? Killing dragons and such?"

They had come to the glass-walled section of the tunnel. The tram was not extremely deep below the surface, so enough light penetrated through the water to illuminate a marine tableau. The remains of a sunken ship were visible, and schools of fish darted about.

Filora considered the question as they came to a stop. She had done the dungeon-delving, dragon-slaying thing for awhile; she had even taken over leading Xaraphyne's Treasure Seekers after the trolless had lost interest, and had been responsible for organizing over two dozen people in such delves for a time. That was where the shoulderguards she currently wore had come from. But the rest of her armor had been won in the arenas and battlegrounds, though she'd never been especially dedicated to it.

"I don't really have a preference, I suppose," she said finally. "I go where I'm useful."

"Hmm. Interesting. Usually people have a preference." Drinn leaned against the glass, looking at a naga who swam by.

Unsure of the noncommittal answer, Filora looked at her. "I've become more concerned with the Alliance problem lately," she said, earnest. "As evidenced by my presence here."

Drinn nodded absently. "Good to hear that... there needs to be more that prefer a little one-on-one time with the Alliance. Though I doubt they will be our only obstacle to come."

This worked well with what she'd told Atticus. "No, they're not. That's why I've been working on the efforts to fight Garrosh's forces. We need to reduce our number of problems."

"Yes, Garrosh.. also that sort of problem."

This wasn't helping Filora come up with anything new to tell the Dreadweaver, though, and the rogue seemed to be becoming distant. On an impulse, Filora asked, "So when did you meet Atticus?"

Drinn moved to sit down, so Filora followed suit. Drinn landed back on her elbows and lazily rolled her head to look over at Filora, who sat crosslegged beside her. "My first Grim gathering..." She almost smiled. "He took notice of something rogues do.. sort of an unspoken.. thing."

Filora figured it was a rogue secret that she wouldn't be told if she asked. "Was he already Forsaken then?" she asked.

Drinn nodded. "Yes, he was. Fairly new to it in the grand scheme of mortality when it concerns the Forsaken, but Forsaken nonetheless."

"And you don't... mind?" She had to ask.

"That he's Forsaken?" Drinn said. Filora nodded. Drinn blinked and opened her mouth to reply only to shut it. Her brows furrowed in something like consternation, but she didn't seem angered. "If he hadn't become a Forsaken, then we would have not met. So there are merits to his... state.. of being."

Filora smiled. "That's kind of romantic."

Drinn cleared her throat and offered a tight smile that didn't quiet meet her eyes. "I suppose."

The quixotic response perhaps suggested romance wasn't the principal factor in their relationship; but Filora wasn't going to push her luck to inquire further. The rogue was letting her guard down, and Filora knew better than to take too much advantage of it and ruin the moment.

"So can I ask..." She paused just long enough to indicate a serious thought. "How does a romantic relationship hold up under the weight of the Mandate? How does one justify taking time for other purposes in life when the Mandate is so all-consuming?"

Drinn took some time to answer that. "I suppose some people will say they strive on even balance. I, however, don't. I was bred into the Mandate.. so.. there is little else, which suits me just fine."

"Doesn't a marriage take a lot of work?" Filora asked. "You have to set aside time for each other... meld your views and lifestyles... work out how to tolerate each other, day in, day out."

Drinn's brows furrowed again. "It takes work, yes. But I am who I am because Atticus was the one to train me. There's a point where you reach a symbiotic state in relationship where the things you don't say no longer need to be said. He has his focus, and I have mine."

It was a gem of a response. Filora could make something out of that. "Ooh, I see," she said, pleased. She reflected on the words, pondering what else she might ask.

Drinn raised an eyebrow, but just shifted and glanced out into the water before asking something of her own. "So.. you... are wanting a life then? With normalcy.. romance and all that?"

Filora blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and answered without thinking. "What? No." Then she hastened to provide a reasonable explanation for the blunt words. "I dated someone once. It was terrible."

"..Elven male? I hear they're mostly daft." Drinn smirked.

Filora looked at her and laughed. "Yes." She hadn't thought about him in a long time. She'd been younger then, and stupid.

Dismissing the memories, she decided to bring the conversation back on point. Best to keep this about the Mandate, and how better than to suggest she was still wrestling with it in some way. Then, when she reached an understanding, everyone would be satisfied with her. Much more believable than accepting it without ever batting an eye.

"I don't much see the point of romance," Filora told Drinn. She neatly tied all her questions together. "But it's another thing to only live for one thing."

Drinn had a solid response for that. The rogue spoke with concentration. "It's not just one 'thing' when it's everything. For the greater good and all that. It becomes you, it becomes me. It becomes everyone who shares our banner, and extends to those we fight for.. as trite as that sounds."

Another gem. "I think I understand," Filora said.

"It seems senseless in some ways, I'm sure. Very fish-eyed focal point of the world and everything that happens in it. But at the end of the day the Mandate is the Mandate and the scope broadens after time."

Yes, Filora could do something with that. She smiled at the rogue. "Thanks for sharing your thoughts with me. I suppose I've kept you long enough."

"I hope that this will sate your process with the Dreadweavers."

"They seem to like me. I don't think it'll be hard." Filora chuckled.

"Well, once you know your angle, use it. Best advice a rogue can give." Drinn showed her teeth with a small grin.

It was the last thing Filora needed to be told. She just grinned back. "More common sense if I've ever heard it!"

"Common sense is a beautiful thing..." Drinn said, rising to her feet. Filora followed suit.

"Yet sadly lacking in some."

"Painfully lacking," Drinn agreed.

"Have a good night," Filora bid the rogue.

"And you."

They parted ways. Filora began composing the report in her head as she went.

(( Bravo! Good dialogue ))

[[ I can only take half the credit. <grins> ]]

Dreadweaver Atticus Grace,

As you know, I spoke to Drinn for my second interview. I didn't realize what I hoped to learn from her until the end of the evening.

It doesn't seem to have struck any of the officership significant that I was once a member of Sanctuary, the guild with a mantra of nonviolence toward the Alliance in order to achieve peace. True, I told the High Inquisitor a plain fact that probably seemed sufficient: I tried that path, and it simply did not work. Accepting me at my word, there is little cause for further speculation. But the difference between Sanctuary and the Grim is greater than that, and though I could not name it precisely, it gave me pause until Drinn's words enlightened me.

You see, Sanctuary's philosophy does not require one to act. It requires one to not act. It requires sacrifice, not effort. And it is not a mandate. It is a request.

I didn't know if I could truly commit myself to the Mandate of the Grim. It is not something you can only do part of the time. It becomes all-encompassing if it is not meaningless words; there is no middle ground. And while I have no interest in a "normal life, with romance and all that", as Drinn put it, it was hard to imagine devoting myself to the Mandate.

Then Drinn explained how she saw it: that the Mandate doesn't just encompass you; it encompasses everything. Your family, your friends, your guildmates, your lovers... and everyone for whom the Mandate stands. And I realized I was wrong.

The Mandate won't hold me back from life. It will only give me a purpose with which to live it.

Peace Through Annihilation.


Filora Livlet

Filora reread the letter one more time before nodding to herself and folding it into an envelope. She hoped she hadn't overdone it. Atticus barely paid attention to her, and she liked it that way.

Now there was just one Trial left, and then she'd be a full member. It would undoubtedly be a cinch. She smiled to herself and went to mail the letter.

Filora,

You have passed your Trial of Resolve. Meet with me to discuss your Trial of Sacrifice.

Atticus