“I can’t find my fucking shoes, Jakob.”

“Yva, the lich king doesn’t give a horses’s arse what shoes you’re wearing. JUST PUT SOMETHING ON.”

She stormed past him – tried to shoulder past him, really, but that failed spectacularly considering how large he was – and began rifling through the closet. “These are special shoes. Enchanted ones. I am not going toe to toe with Putricide in my bloody socks.”

Jak’s cheek ticked. “You have five minutes.”

“DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO RUSH ME.”

The answer was the clang of his sabatons across the floor, and then the slam of the front door.

“Jakob? JAKOB BALTHASAR GET BACK HERE!”

No answer.

Flaadhun lifted his head at the sing-song tones of his mistress having a complete and utter hissy fit. He padded over, stretching and grunting as he leaned against her legs. She cast him a sideward glance and a scowl. “Don’t think I don’t know this is your fault, Dog. I don’t know if hiding my shoes is your way of saying you don’t want to go, but it’s not going to change a damned . . . that miserable sod left without me. He really did. He went after ARTHAS on his own, after all we’ve been through. That horrid, domineering son of a bitch.” Her hands went to her hips as she glared at the spot Jakob Balthasar had occupied a moment ago.

She was getting ready for another round of ranting when there was a thud by her feet. She looked down. The mysteriously missing shoes were suddenly there, and Flaadhun was sitting beside them, the scaly monolith of his tail thudding against the carpets.

“Yes, you want me to tell you you’re good for returning what you stole? I think not.” He whined as she stooped to pull the shoes on, bitching all the while. “And believe you me, Flaadhun, when I find Jak, he’s going to wish he’d never heard my name. No one simply walks out on me, especially not when the most important fight in . . . EVER presents itself. Cad. What an utter CAD.” She grabbed her satchel of runes and stomped through the living room, felhound snorting in tow behind her. She felt one of his tentacles winding around the hem of her robe and tugging, as if he could hold her back.

“Good gods what! I’m in a mood, if you haven’t noticed, and you can thank your father for that.”

“I am not that thing’s father. It’s a fucking demon. Can we GO now?” She jerked her head up to see Jakob staring at her through the glass window of the front door. She blinked, her irritation fluttering away, replaced by red faced embarrassment that she’d likely been cursing him to the nether and back and he’d heard every word.

Because he was standing just outside the door waiting for her the entire time.

“Oh, of course. I . . right. I think I’m ready to . . . ”

His cheek ticked again.

She flashed him her best makeshift smile. “Shall we then?”

Their antipathy stems from a number of interactions with some less-than-savory Belves, and an interesting bit of random RP during BC, when a new Draenei character nearly died to a Blood Elf ambusher.

So share with us: What races does your toon despise–and why!

Naiara Bittertongue

Naiara Bittertongue exists as a series of emotes, drawings and exquisitely timed phonetically spelled swear words. She doesn’t have a class. She has no profession. She does not even have an avatar. She does, however, consume a significant amount of RP. In return, she generates more than her fair share of Bricu/Threnn stories, ideas and vignettes. It should be no surprise, then, that Naiara was a huge factor in how the Bittertongues decided to deal with Arthas. This is how the Bricu prepared for war.

Thenia refused to think of her daughters and her son in law. Both daughters, her no good son-in-law and her nearly-perfect granddaughter had arrived to tell her, in person, that the Highlord had called the banners. The Riders were going to war, which meant her daughters were at risk… Instead, she focused on her still limping husband, who was stubbornly insisted on putting their granddaughter to bed.

“Sit and relax Thenia.” Padraig said, “You worked all day. Besides, I usually put her to bed. You can get her ready when she gets up in the morning.”

She noted that Padraig didn’t mention how Naiara did not want to come near her, or how Naiara fussed when he left the room. She was thankful that Padraig didn’t use the words, “phase, stage or fussy.” He just left it alone. Thenia almost smiled at her husbands kindness.

To keep her thoughts from drifting to Dalaran–and worse–Thenia kept herself busy by sorting through Naiara’s bags. Threnn and Bricu left her: sets of clothes, cloth diapers, homemade snacks and more stuffed animals than any little girl really needed. Each bag was meticiulously packed and ordered, and contained far more than what was necessary for “one last battle.”

At the bottom of the biggest bag, she found a large enevlope. It was addressed to Naiara, not to her, in Bricu’s hand writing. Thenia didn’t need instructions on how to take care of her granddaughter, and as clever as Naiara was, she was still years away from learning her letters. Her son-in-law left her a mystery. A mystery she carried with her to the kitchen, where she made herself some tea. As the kettle boiled, she checked to make sure no one in the house was watching her–a useless precaution given that she could hear Padraig reading a story to Naiara–and steamed the envolpe open.

She took out a collection of letters. Some were short notes, others were multiple page affairs. Some were written in Threnn’s handwriting, some in Bricu’s. All of them were dated. Most were dated for Naiara’s birthday, but Thenia found one with today’s date–a long letter written by Bricu–and read it.

My wee girl,

Your Da.

Thenia folded the letter up and put it back into the envelope. She listened for Padraig or Naiara, but neither was making a sound. For the moment, Thenia was completely alone in her home. She sat in her chair and let herself worry about her family, in the North.

The Wildfire Riders decided that the release of today’s patch would see our RP circle IC’ly tackling the fall of the Lich King. This is something I whipped up to commemorate it!

From that Fellsabucket:
“How do you balance out personal like/dislike for a character between IC and OOC reactions?”

Most of us have been there before — there’s a character that bumps into yours on occasion, and your character simply can’t get along with him or her.  Maybe Lord Mason”s looked down his nose at your character because he comes from money and she was a farmhand.  Or perhaps Trixie”s all too willing to twirl her daggers and brag about her recent crime spree to your law-abiding paladin.

On the flipside, you and your character think roses grow in Elsa’s footsteps and she could never do any wrong.

So how do you handle those situations in and out of character?  It boils down, as always, to communication.

If another character’s doing something that will spark a negative reaction from your character, drop the player an OOC whisper to give them a heads-up.  Sometimes, the conflict will be welcome.  (<3 Arrens!)  Other times, the two of you might want to step back for a few minutes and talk about ways to diffuse the situation, especially if a shouting match might mean one character or the other stalks off, thus taking them out of any larger RP gatherings that are happening at the time.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, for Elsa, who can do no wrong, a little bit of brainstorming with the other player might be productive.  What sorts of things might she do that would show your character she has flaws of her own, that might flesh her out for both of you?

Those are scenarios that are easier to work through.  What happens if you simply, OOCly, don’t care for the character concept?  Your friend Joe really, truly thinks he can pull off a character that’s half-dragon.  You’re not so keen on the premise.  It’s your right to say “I think I’m going to bow out of Joestrasza’s quest to discover his true heritage.”  But when your character’s around Joe’s in a casual setting, can they coexist civilly?

Sometimes,  your characters will simply never get along.  That’s okay!  However, make sure the lines of communication are open with the other player.  If the conflict stops being fun OOC, it’s time to take another look and make some changes.

—

From Itanya Blade:
“Talk about how to RP losing.”

This is an excellent question, and you guys are welcome to jump on in with examples from your own RP experiences — I know I won’t think of all the angles, because there are just so many.

What fun is it if you win all the time?  Failure can be a great vehicle for character development.

First of all, consider what’s at stake — if your character doesn’t win the fight, or doesn’t make it to the destination on time, what kind of loss does he or she suffer?  Losing a few gold in a card game probably won’t have the same impact as losing a sword that’s been in the family for generations.  However, if your character’s the best card shark this side of the Maelstrom, losing the game means is reputation takes a hit.  Billy the Undefeated becomes Billy the Guy I Saw Lose That One Time. The loss can be a physical one, too:  someone else gets the upper hand in a brawl, and your character’s left spitting out teeth outside the pub.

If your character is losing to another PC, discuss it with the other player. This is actually an RP opportunity for both parties.  What if your character’s great-great-great-great grandfather actually stole the sword from his rival?  And that’s who’s come to take it back?  What if Sally the Sly is the best card shark from the other side of the Maelstrom?  Maybe it kicks off a long-standing rivalry between the two.

But always make sure you’re talking it out with one another OOC.  If one character’s beating the hell out of the other, know when to say when.  Even if you’re making up the fight as you go along, keep the lines of communication open.  I remember witnessing the OOC chatter one night when Bricu, Tarquin and Ceil were fighting — “There’s a set of stairs here.  Someone’s getting knocked down them.” // “YES!” — they were orchestrating the fight as they went along and having fun with it.  At the same time, they kept the fight fairly even.  No one really had the upper hand (in this fight, everyone lost.)

It’s also possible that the opponents aren’t evenly matched, which leads to a loss.  The cocky young paladin, fresh from the Abbey, challenges a knight of the Argent Crusade and suffers a humiliating defeat.  The goblins sold your elf some enchanted dice, and they’ve always worked… until the mage she challenges counterspells the effect.

Once the loss has happened, what are the consequences? What happens if your mage goes back to her master without his grimoire?  Will your character’s family disown him when they find out the sword is gone?  Can Billy-the-Recently-Defeated show his face at any card tables in town without people laughing?

How does your character face those consequences (or do they face them at all?) Do they suck it up and tell other people about their defeat?  Do they try to cover it up?  Pretend it never happened?  Run as far away as they can get?

How does losing change the character, or, what has he/she learned? Your character doesn’t have to do a big, huge, personality 180 after losing, but it’s good to see the loss have some effect on character development.  Maybe she’s more wary of goblin dice, or gambling with mages.  Maybe he starts carrying brass knuckles in his pocket to be ready for his next barroom brawl.  Seeing her mother’s reaction to the loss of the heirloom sword makes her appreciate the legacy, or makes her question everything she knew.

Finally, what comes next? The losing doesn’t have to be the end of the story, and can, in fact, launch the next part of the arc.  Does the character seek redemption?  Does he organize a poker tournament to regain his title?  Does she find another way to come out on top?  How does it affect her relationship with the person she lost to?

Have at it, cats ‘n’ kittens.  Tell us about a time your character lost, and what the fallout was.

If you are feeling the lull, and don’t know what to do with your RP, you are not alone. There are probably at least two or three other people in your circle who are feeling the same drain. I recommend the following:

1) Take control of your Character’s Story.
Figure out what is going on in your toon’s brain. Are they worried about the assault on ICC? Are they worried about the Scourge? Are they dealing with the terror or ICC? Are they looking for something to fill the void of combat? Once you know where your character is (psychologically, emotionally) following the content, you can begin to address it.

2) Gather your peeps
Take your group on an RP Session to “deal with the Lull.” This can be anything from a traditional story nights and pub crawls to a guild meeting where someone loses their shi–stuff. The RP event you create needs to be focused on the consequences of the content. Take ICC for instance. This is the heart of the Lich King’s Undead kingdom. It is full of terrifying monsters. Monsters made up of former friends, relatives, comrades and enemies. Witnessing those atrocities will leave scars, so why not RP the healing process?

When all else fails, vary the RP
If you are used to forum RP, try RPing in the client. If you are used to RP in the client, try some forum or Ficcing. Sometimes the best way to fill in a lull is to change the format.

We have two examples to share:
Currently, Anna and I are working (via google Wave) on a story for our own content Lull. While it is a bit of a secret, I can share this much: Just because Arthas is gone does not mean that everyone begins to heal from what he has done to his people. There are traditional ways of dealing with loss and grief, and Bricu wants to give that method a chance. Arthas may not deserve it…but one has to pay their debts.

Secondly:
Last RP night, Bricu and Threnn learned how to can fruit. That RP Night was “domestic night.” While canning, they discussed:

The Content Lull was dealt with. Current Story lines were tied up and inspiration for new stories were planted. All in all, a perfect way to deal with the doldrums.

The Lull isn’t all bad folks. In fact, this is the time when we can dust off old RP, set up new stories and finish current plots. The Lull is more an opportunity than a pain in the ass. Since we have all “Been there, done that” we have the time to work our own stories into WoW’s plot.

Does the lull have you down? Have you conquered it? Fill us in! Tell us how you are dealing, or not dealing, with the lull.

These are minor failings. The fic we wrote up as a guild and shared with each other is brilliant. As a guild, we were able to share an event together, an event we all did on our own time. We’ll dissect Wrathgate later….but for now, let me share with you the last of the Original Fiction from Wrathgate.

Bricu, Illithias, Varenna, Threnn, Fingold, Annalea
She didn’t stay still for long. After a few moments of relative silence once Bricu had walked away, Illithias resumed her struggling against her bonds. The Northman had used a lot of bandage, and cinched it all tight – there was precious little give, and the fabric was already freezing over from the soaked thaw. Varenna still kneeled on her back. Bound and pinned and twisting this way and that, the elf resembled an fish thrashing away on dry land.

“Sun… ! Gah… ! Var… ! Varenna!” she barked, voice horse and strained from the angle.

From her vantange astride Illithias’ torso, Varenna Sungale turned her head slight and looked down at Illi, addressing the filthy, bloody hair plastered wo her scalp and scarred ears.

“Miss Illithias. Please do try to be still. If you don’t calm down, I’ll knock you out and tell Sergeant Bittertongue you somehow got free.”

Flopping heavily back into the slush and ice, Illithias let out a long, croaking sigh. She had stopped struggling.

—
With Illithias dealt with, Bricu walked back to Threnn. She was flanked by Annalea and Fingold. They were deep in converation, but Bricu managed to catch Threnn’s last words.

“We have to see it.” Threnn said to him.

“See what?” Bricu asked.

“The battlefield.” Threnn said. “We…I want to see what happened.”

“Threnny…” Bricu stopped himself. He knew the look. Threnn was set to go to the valley, regardless of what he said or did. From the looks of it, Annalea and Fingold would follow.

“Right. Then we go back. Threnn, stay behind me, Annie, behind her. Fin, anchor the rear.”

Two northmen and two southron women descended the rough cut path to the valley of Angrathar. In the distance, they could see Dragon Queen Alexstrasza and her consort Korialstrasz holding court in the ruined valley. The began walking calmly, orderly, like soldiers. It was the smell of the fire and cooking soliders that shattered Bricu’s resolve. Anthragar became Stratholme. There were no ruins or burning buildings, but there were soldiers writhing in agony from fire and from plague.

Bricu held out his hand to keep Threnn from running past time.

“No!” Bricu screamed. “Threnny! Stay back!”

Threnn did nothing of the sort. She walked up next to Bricu and looked down into valley. Bricu ground his teeth in response. Annalea and Fingold, whether afraid of Bricu or the view below, stayed back by a dozen paces.

“Oh light. Oh, Gods.” Threnn said.

“The plague is burned…” Bricu stopped himself. “We can go.”

Threnn continued to gaze at the ruin in the valley. She whispered, “They…They killed… They’re screaming.”

Bricu watched as soldiers from the Alliance and the Horde writhed in agony. He knew that the luckier ones would die after a few minutes of excruciating pain. The unlucky ones would scream and cry for water or mercy, only to die alone and in terrible pain. The smart ones–the ones Bricu identified with–ran down the goat path. Bricu unclenched his teeth to shout orders at the troops.

“Hold yer ground yeh tossers!”

“There’s no ground to hold.” Threnn said sharply, “They’re all dying.”

Bricu gestured to the soliders who had left their shields and swords on the valley floor. “There are ones runnin’. They need ta help with the burned an’ the wounded.”

“So do I.” Threnn said. She marched down the path, with Bricu, Annelea and Fingold in step with her.

Threnn started looking over the soliders, trying to judge which one she could save and which ones were too far gone. Bricu interrupted her.

“Then we can drag ‘em t’saftey.”

She did not stop to look at Bricu as he spoke. She noticed a solider, Westfallian by the look of her, whose tabard had been burned away. Her armor partially melted to her skin. Her breathing was ragged and shallow.

“They don’t have that kind of time.” Threnn said softly.

She started to pray, calling upon the Light to heal this woman’s wounds. The woman inhaled as deeply as her damaged lungs would let her. The air rattled in her lungs, a sound that Threnn could hear standing above her, and she was gone. Threnn let her prayer end before it was finished.

Bricu walked to her side, putting one gauntlleted hand on her shoulder. “Yer mum ta be. If they don’t have the time, then they get The Mercy.”

“Mercy?” What fecking mercy?” Threnn said, not too sharply.

It was Annalea who answered her.

“Mine.”

Annalea stood, with Fingold at her side, a short distance away from her sister. She held her up a worn, brown leather satchel, full of pockets for vials, herbs and potions. “This is what I’m here to do.”

Bricu nodded to her, Threnn paused. His hand still on his shoulder, Bricu whispered in Threnn’s ear.

“Come on now love, we’ve got a job ta do.”

Bricu pointed towards the mass of soldiers gathering near the Dragon queen.

“She’s talkin’ t’em. We need t’hear what she’s sayin, aye?”

Threnn looked at the shields of the fallen soldiers around them, and avoided looking at her sister.

“All right.” Threnn said, not meeting Bricu’s eyes. She looked around the battlefield, trying to look for one person that she could pull to saftey. Threnn didn’t see anyone.

“It feels wrong, leaving them.” She said finally. She turned back to Bricu.

“We’ve done what we can…” Bricu said. He pointed out the fires that still burned sporadacicaly across the valley. “These aren’t like Stratholme’s fires. These are the fires o’the Queen.” Bricu said, sounding as sincere as he could. “This lot will go on ta their rest. The rest o’us will just have t’keep workin’.”

A woman led the procession of mourners from the great Cathedral in Stormwind to the back alley of the Pig and Whistle. Some of the mourners, those farther away from the front, wept. Those in the front, all of whom were decked in the Black and Red–even if the edges were torn and the colors faded from age–were as silent as the grave. In between the mourners and the Riders, the occasional Agent of the Crown could be seen, studying the faces of the assembled mourners.

When they reached the back alley, the woman turns to address the crowd. She has auburn hair and northern eyes. She does not cry nor does her voice crack with emotion. She says these words with practiced ease.

My father was a bastard. Some of you, the more forgiving of you, might credit this to his childhood: Growing up on the streets of Lordaeron with the other refugees and orphans. While he was quick to point out that he was an orphan, I would be remiss if I did not remind you all that he was, in his heart, a right bastard.

He was a solider of so loyal to his Prince that he put his own countrymen to the sword and burned down his home. While many men would repent this sin, or follow their prince to the bitter end, my father did neither. He marched his way south, to Northshire Abbey, where he cheated and conned his way into what was left of the Order of the Silver Hand. Maybe he mentioned his liege–a landed knight who lived near Stratholme–or maybe he begged for sanctuary. He never spoke of it to me. He did tell me how he spent his days sneaking out to Goldshire and drinking away his memories. He did tell me how he challenged the faith of his instructors and mentors, how he was punished for heresy–twice–and yet he managed to charm his way into a set of spurs.

What kind of Paladin is a founding member of the Black n’Red? Maybe the Light he worshiped is the light reflected off gold and silver coins that he helped steal.

That’s how he taught me about the Light–A story of how the Fox stole enough the Light to hunt for food for her kits, another to keep her kits warm at night–stories that he swore were told to him by his own parents. This is how I was raised: with the criminals of Old Town, and taught fantastic heresies from the Old North. Only a bastard would raise a child this way.

He was smart enough, to put down his bourbon long enough to see my mother for who she is. Threnody Al’Cair is as beautiful and clever as the day she met my father. Bricu had no chance against her. To his credit, from the day they stood watch at my family’s shop, my father put ahead of everyone else…until I was born.

My father was there to kill the Bloody Prince–the bogeyman that still haunts those who have Northman blood. Then he hosted his wake. My father was there to help the people of Stormwind when Deathwing appeared. Then, once the dust settled, he delivered the Riders’ Bill For Service to the King’s steward.

A good bastard keeps account of who has what coming. No one could do that better than my da.

I’m sure that many of you here, in front of the Pig and Whistle, are part of the King’s Service. The illustrious organization that my father refused to call anything but Seven, or the Bloody Arseholes of Seven. You locked him away before I was born. You took him away from me when I was just a girl. You may even have had something to do with us being here today. So it is for your benefit today that I remind you of how my father, Bricu Bittertongue, was a right bastard.

He wouldn’t mind you lot speaking ill of him–he didn’t have a kind word to say about you either–and he would be offended if you lied about him.

But he was my bastard, and I would rather have a right bastard with me then King or Country behind me.

Good bye Da. I love you. We’ll miss you.

All the tired, drawn, hopeful faces in the Gilded Rose turned towards them, studying them with a curiosity that bordered on avarice. The two women looked nothing alike, really, and neither of them remotely resembled the man. But in that moment, the smiles on their faces were all of a kind.

Tarquin glanced between the other two, puffing pensively, until Fells nudged him in the ribs as a necessary step of her dance of agonized impatience. The boss snorted and took a step forward. There were at least twenty people down in the common room, and they were all looking to him for an answer – and for once, the prospect didn’t worry him in the least. After all, it was pretty simple.

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, spread his hands, and found Padraig and Thenia in the crowd. “Master Al’Cair, Missus Al’Cair – yeh’ve a lovely gran’daughter. Naiara Bittertongue, yeh lot!” The second half was shouted quite loudly, because at that point near on every soul in the room had burst into raucous cheers. Tarquin turned to Annalea, Fells being occupied shouting herself hoarse. “Job oughta be like this mair often,” he murmured.

Annalea smirked at him. “What makes you think it can’t?” Chortling, Naiara’s godfather stepped down into a welcoming sea of strangers who were, tonight, his bosom companions. A drink was in order.

–
She’d dug the vial up from beneath the rowan tree just after Threnn’s first call. In the morning light, the mixture’s glow was barely discernible, as much a product of the sun filtering through the crystal as it the magic swirling around inside. When she went upstairs to catch a few more hours of sleep, she laid a strip of white cloth in her windowbox and placed the vial on top of it, so it could gather the sun’s warmth. Blessed by day and night and in-between.

When the time came, the vial rode in her pocket all the way across the city, nestled close to her heart. It stayed there as they counted off the hours, as people came and went. When Threnn put an arm around her shoulder for yet another walk around the room, Anna twined her sister’s fingers with her own, and every step became a syllable of the Name she’d written with the goddess as her witness.

Then came the hours of blood and pain, where the body that had never been anything but hale and hearty betrayed Threnn at last. While they waited for Indarra to arrive, Anna exchanged worried looks with Haemon, and thought of the fading cries of kits in a cave.

But then, at last, there was a girl, a tiny baby in Fells’ careful hands, letting out her first shuddering cries as she was given into her father’s arms, and then her mother’s.

Anna still had Threnn’s blood on her hands as she edged closer to Bricu and reached for the vial, but that was all right; it would only strengthen the spell. A mother will bleed for her child just as much as a father does, after all. She bent over her sister and her niece as she unstoppered the vial and poured some of its contents on her fingertips. It was warm as it splashed out, whether from her own body, or whether it had retained the sun’s heat, she’d never know.

Bricu placed his hand on her back as she brushed sigils on the baby’s forehead, lips and heart with gentle fingers. Anna looked up, waiting for Threnn’s permission. Her sister brushed sweat-darkened hair from her eyes, and nodded.

Annalea smiled, and whispered a Name in the curve of one tiny ear:

Etaine.

Thenia al’Cair was an exception, but as time has gone on, the woman has grown increasingly fretful. Deeming this unhelpful to Threnn, Annalea finally ushers her mother out of the room, closing the door gently but firmly behind her.

* Bricu fidgets.
* Haemon sighs.

Well. That’s one thing out of the way. I’ll be hearing about it for the next ten years.

She’s gonna be a fuckin’ mess Annie.

You want her to be a fucking mess up here or down there?

As long as yer mum don’t bring it up every year from now… Down there is fine.

I personally would prefer she not be here to upset Threnn. Speaking of which,

Threnn, are we up for another few laps around the room?

* Threnn grimaces.

Careful now…careful, jest. Don’ -hurt- her none. …more.

Ought to have built me one of those hamster wheels.

Ah, the lad kens ‘is business.

I should look into that. Portable running wheels for expectant mothers. I expect I would lose all my patients.

There’s a touch mair at it’n jus’ havin’ ‘em walk circles, innit?

Well

Nah. They’d want to keep them for losing the baby weight after.

I would merely expect they would be insulted, actually.

* Threnn sighs and gets to her feet anyway.
* Haemon helps.
* Fells rushes to help, anxious.

Oi, love, yeh…

* Tarq stays the hell out of the way.
* Bricu watches his wife get surrounded by help.

Yeh know, I thought she’d be…I dunno, lyin’ down or somethin’?

Think tha’s fer the later, Bric. Mean, innit?

Myst’ries ay childbirth.
I think, auld boy, thit by the time this eve’s done wir both ta ken mair’n we ivir wanted.

s’all part o’me plan for omniscience.

Walking helps. Gravity. Really. It works this way.

This helps make her comfortable. And um.
That.

Och. Distractin’ sounds more like it.

* Threnn eyes the men from where she’s propped up between Haemon and Fells.

Wouldja rather concentrate onnis?
* Fells gives Bricu a Look.

How long until we throw them out?

Strewth, I’m just concentratin’ on me lovely wife s’all.

‘s long as they’re not channelling my mother, they can stay.

Now there’s a terrifyin’ thought.

strewth.

Isn’t it?

I can picture it now.

* Haemon leads Threnn around the room, slowly.
* Threnn makes a slow circuit.

Oh, bloody…

What?

Whatsit? Threnny?

Oi, missus, yeh alright?

* Threnn grits her teeth.
‘s fine. Nature.

* Fells winces at her grip, but squeezes back all the same.
Don’ fret, we’s here.

Awright, Threnny, jus’ another couple, eh?

* Threnn takes a few deep breaths.
If only, Tarq.
They’re closer, though. Least there’s that.

* Bricu absently reaches for his tobacco pouch, which is not on his belt.
S’a good thing, then, right?

It is. The more frequent the contractions, the closer we are to the birth.

Think so. Means she’s eagerer ta git free.
Out.
Born.
* Fells frowns.
Sorry. Not jest out, like…

Oi. Fellsie. We got it.

* Haemon pats Fells. It’s the “Okay, that’s enough” pat.
* Fells sighs.

* Threnn looks up again.
You, uh. Do I keep going?

You can lie down again, if you would like. At some point, I should likely see if you are dialating.

* Fells looks a smidge uncomfortably.
Not all’a us gots t’look, though. Ayeh?

Sweet Light, I hope not.

No. The fewer eyes, the better, really.

* Bricu grumbles.
yer damn right…

I volunteer ta stay here an’ study the wall.
No offense, Threnny.

M’kinda with Tarq onnat part.

None taken.

None taken.

Then we are all agreed, I believe.
* Haemon grimaces briefly, then returns to smiling placidly.
* Threnn starts steering back towards the bed.
* Haemon helps!
* Fells hobbles along.
Here, now, there…

Right.

* Threnn settles back down onto the bed.
Thank you.

Missus, yeh want for anythin’?

* Haemon takes out his pocketwatch, still silently counting from the last contraction.
* Fells rearranges pillows, more for wont of something to be useful doing than anything.

No, I’m all right, I think.
* Threnn closes her eyes as another hits.

* Haemon tucks his watch away.

Oi, Fellsie, mind if I scooch by yeh?

Five. We are progressing nicely.

Nono, ‘course. Here.
* Fells steps away, her eyes fixed on Threnn.
…looks like it hurts…

It’s the rumor.

* Fells winces.

Yeah, I can… confirm it.

Should I not mention it will likely get somewhat worse?

Awdamn.
* Fells bites her lip.

‘s what they say.

I…I don’t got a thing t’say.

They also say it is entirely worth it. Shall we see how we are doing?

I could juggle.
Do card tricks.

Yer gonna git smacked inna tick, Tarquin.

Oh, it’s not every mother who has her very own entertainer. I like this idea.

Yeh got a trick that’ll make the birth easier?

* Annalea rolls her eyes at her sister and gets a sheet, for privacy.

Ferget adventurin’ an’ makin’ money the hard way Tarq. Yeh can get a bunch o’ professional card sharks t’do tricks

As a sleight of hand artist, perhaps you could pull the baby from behind her ear?

I do, but it comes in a brown bottle an’ it’s prolly no’ recommended by medicine.

‘member a time when it was…

Actually, at this point, the baby is no longer being fed so much by mother, so….

So I could waddle down to the Pig and have a pint?

No, -no.-
* Fells does not see the jest.

Hypothetically. The larger risk would be the baby falling out and cracking its head on the pavement on the way.

Och, next lap, just down the stairs.

I agree, s’completely unacceptable.

* Bricu blinks.

A pint. What’re yeh thinkin’?
Whiskey does’na come in pints.

That’s an image I didn’t need Shad…
Strewth.
* Bricu whispers to Tarq.
* Tarq snorts laughter and claps Bricu on the shoulder.

* Threnn snickers at Tarquin.
Oh. Oh, ow.

Another? Already?

Yeah. Small one.

* Haemon straightens the sheet over Threnn.

* Fells looks confused.
They come in sizes?

Intensities.

Big ow, little ow.

All right, no more joking from me. You lot are free to continue. Laughter helps.

Doessit truly?
* Fells tries.
* Fells doesn’t do well.

Yeh heard the one ’bout the twa Stormwind boys wha’ went ta see the priest?

* Haemon crouches at the far end of Threnn.
* Annalea watches over Haemon’s shoulder.
Pardon me, apologies…

‘s all right.

Nah, never.

Right, so.
There’s these couple City lads. Let’s say it’s Robert an’
William Bell.
In the int’rest ay bein’ familiar, eh?

Aye, aye.

So they go ta confession at the Cathedral, ta talk ta Father Mackenzie. An’ Robert’s first.

* Haemon reaches and peers, still muttering apologies under his breath.

So he goes up ta the booth, an’ says “Forgive me, Father, for I’ve sinned. I had carnal knowledge ay an unmarried woman.”

* Threnn tries to see what Haemon’s doing, even though that’s physically impossible.

…brilliantly fuckin’ timed there Tarq….

Innit?

s’like the Light inspired yeh

An’ Father Mackenzie frowns an’ sighs, wi’ great disappointment, an’ says “Ah, my son, it grieves me ta hear this. Wha’ was the poor lassie?”
An’ Robert goes “I’m sorry, Father, I kinna tell yeh thit, I dinna wanna shame her.”
So the auld Father, he thinks ’bout lassies he knows from the young Bell’s neighborhood. “Was it, uh, Susan Creely, my boy?”
“Nah, father,” says Robert, “I kinna tell.”

* Haemon emerges from under the sheet.
About three inches. We should be crowning soon. Sorry to interrupt, do continue.

Crownin’?

“It’s virra important, me lad. Wis it-” nothin’ ay it, Shad – “Darce McKearn?”

We will see the baby’s head start to appear and push through.

Right…right.

Och, guid.

should’ve fuckin’ known that bit.

S’pose it’ll be a few years at least afore they put ‘er oan the throne, Bric.

At the least.

* Annalea snorts. “I think Robert *did* fuck Da–”
* Annalea shuts up.
* Fells blinks at Anna.

Anyhow. Robert says “I’m sorry, Father, I kinna say either wey.”

* Fells grins.

couple… only a couple.

An’ Father MacKenzie sighs. “I should know, for the benefit of her soul. Was it…”
* Tarq pauses and looks over at Annie, grinning slyly.

* Annalea puts on her angelic face.

“…Thenia Al’Cair?”
* Tarq keeps a perfectly straight face.

* Haemon fails not to laugh.

* Annalea blinks.
* Threnn blinks.

Yeh see, he wis tryin’ ta think ay lasses that’d…anyhow!
Robert still will’na tell ‘im.

* Fells snickers.
* Bricu snorts once, trying to keep from laughing. He glances once at Tarquin then keels over with laughter.

So fin’ly Father MacKenzie gies it up. “Aright, my son, I kin respect thit. So I’ll need yeh ta say ten Verses ay Pentinence an’ spend six hours in the church garden. Go an’ sin na more.”
An’ Robert walks out ay the booth an’ back ta the pew , an’ his brither asks “Aright, Robert, what’d he gie yeh?”
An’ Rob says “Ten verses, six hours in the garden, an’ three names.”
* Tarq clasps his fingers together and grins.

…
* Fells shakes her head, laughing.
That ain’t -right.-

* Threnn bursts out laughing.
* Haemon grins, ducks under, and calls out from within the sheet. “Three and a half!”

…is thit a measurement, or did I miss yin?

That was a measurement.

I think it was a joke, boss.

Sorry, I should specify. Inches.

* Fells holds her fingers apart, about yea wide.
* Haemon extends his arm out from under the sheet. It’s about thiiiiis far.
* Fells cocks her head.
You umn. You doin’ a’right there, Threnny?

Oh. I thought there wis a lass ay only half-doubtful virtue in the joke I fergot.
If yeh dinna mind, I’m gonna pretend thit’s what it wis.

You are welcome to.

* Tarq nods. It might just be his wardrobe, but he’s looking slightly green.

They wait. One hour, two. The contractions start coming closer together, lasting longer. Threnn’s in pain, but managing. Bricu and Fells take turns holding her hand, relieving one another when the need to fidget grows too strong. Tarq lounges, tries to keep everyone’s spirits up, and covers up his own nervousness with wisecracks.

Meanwhile, Shad begins to frown.

* Annalea glances towards Haemon.
* Haemon frowns. Deeply.

Anna, I think I need my buzzbox.

Och, why?

Fells, would you–it is in my bag…

* Tarq ‘s gaze snaps over to Haemon.
* Haemon stands up to stretch slightly.
* Threnn pushes herself up to her elbows.

The head disappeared. It crowned, and then it retracted. And I have no idea what it is doing, so I would like some advice.

Fells, overwhelmed by the circumstances, faints. (aka, internets go splat)

* Annalea helps Fells into a chair and retrieves Haemon’s buzzbox in her place.
* Tarq finger-drums on his knees, eyes flickering between Haemon and Threnn.

Bloody hell. Shad, who’re yeh callin’?

* Haemon takes it and awkwardly dials a frequency, glancing over at Bricu. He puts the thing down as quiet as he can.
A, ah….an acquaintance. More experienced than I.
* Haemon turns away from Bricu.

What’s happening?

Priestess?
Calling the baby hotline, that is all, no need to worry.

* Bricu smiles at Threnn
Shad’s callin’ fer advice.
An’ *just* advice.

Gonna keep everythin’ runnin’ smooth

* Bricu glances at Haemon
* Haemon mutters quietly into his box.
* Threnn squeezes Bricu’s hand, hard, as a contraction hits.

* Bricu doesn’t stop smiling.
It’s all right missus. S’allright.

* Annalea touches Haemon’s shoulder.
* Haemon turns around.
Hmm?
* Annalea nods towards the bed, trying not to look too alarmed. There’s blood.
* Haemon frowns slightly and crosses back to check, taking the box with him.

Threnn, are you in pain?

* Tarq keeps his face mask-still, fingers folded in front of his chest.

You talking intensities again?
Because ‘s fairly constant.

Are you currently feeling any -new- brand of pain. Stinging.

I…
* Threnn nods.

* Bricu looks around the room, then back at Threnn. His smile fades.
* Haemon frowns, and looks at Bricu.

You said anything, right?

Just gimme the fuckin’ name.

* Haemon pauses.
…Leafwhisper.

Slightly better than’ some fuckin’ Legionnaire’s name. Fine.
Anythin’ goes wrong…

* Haemon nods and goes back to the box.

She’s a professional.

…she can probably hear me.

Never lost a baby. Not in a thousand years, she said.

Heard it all afore.

* Bricu mutters, “except for the ones she killed.”
* Tarq gives Bricu a deadpan stare.

She is in her way. In the meantime, I want to try something…
* Haemon kneels on the bedside, pushing Threnn’s shoulders gently to the mattress.
Try to keep your spine straight, please.

…or a mother.
All right.

Let me know if this hurts more.

* Haemon presses gently on Threnn’s abdomen.
* Threnn shrieks. That’s a yes.
* Haemon releases immediately.
* Bricu pales.

Okay, so, not that then.

* Tarq hisses a muffled curse.

* Haemon grabs a rag from his bag and disappears under the sheet again.
Tarquin, will you let her in when she arrives?

Guessing that didn’t work?
* Threnn pants that.

Ayeh.

Indarra arrives a few minutes later, true to her word. She ignores pacing family, friends, and visitors in the guest room, making haste towards the steps. Her knuckles rap upon the door.

I am not seeing anything. I am going to try to patch you up a bit here, all right?

Whatever you have to do.

Aye.
Whatever.

* Tarq steps over to the door and, with a quick glance over his shoulder at Bricu, opens it up.
Lo, Indi.

* Bricu nods.
* Tarq smiles blandly.
* Indarra bows low, murmuring a “hello”. She’s in priestess robes with a huge white pearl on a gold chain around her neck. There are no shadows on her hands.

Evenin’. Indi.
* Threnn tries for some dignity.

* Bricu says a quick prayer.

* Tarq steps back and shuts the door.

Hello Threnn, everyone.

* Haemon emerges discreetly.

Oi.

* Indarra brings a medical bag to a small table, keeping her eyes downcast.
* Annalea makes room for Indarra’s things.
* Bricu watches Threnn.

Just so we’re clear, Haemon, Threnn, I lack magic this evening. I’ve found a way around shadows, but it keeps me shut off from all of my power.
* Indarra taps the necklace at her neck.

* Haemon nods.
I can handle healing. And I appreciate you coming.

I did make a promise.
* Indarra smiles faintly.

Can you… I mean, without, you still can…?
* Threnn gestures at herself.

Most of my births require very little magic.
. . . Yes.
* Indarra makes sure she sounds confident.

People been doin’ it a virra long time without, eh?

Aye.

* Haemon glances at Tarquin, and does not precisely agree.
I tried what you said, Priestess, and it just seemed to induce pain.

* Indarra finds water, and washes her hands meticulously, scrubbing them until they’re pink.
All right. I’ll take a look with you in a moment.

* Haemon nods, and steps back to wait. And fidget.

Is there something I should do? Or…?

* Bricu squeezes Threnn’s hand.

Tell me a story.
* Indarra smiles at her and approaches the foot of the bed.

* Bricu closes his eyes.

What kind of a story?

* Haemon moves to stand somewhere between Indarra and Bricu.

How about something from your childhood, a happy memory. When you have to breathe through a contraction, do so, but let’s hear a story.

* Bricu fidgets.
* Threnn lets her head fall back a moment while she thinks.
* Indarra lifts the sheet and peers beneath. “Apologies for the hands, but at least the water was warm, hmm?”

I… yeah. Thank you.
When I was ten, the, uh. The Bells. They were here. Did you meet them?

They must be some of the gents downstairs I passed.
* Indarra applies gentle pressure and motions Haemon over.

* Haemon steps over quickly.

Bricu, if you’d be kind enough to mop Threnn’s brow? Cool water. She’s likely over warm right now.

Decent lads, they seem.

* Annalea gets a bowl of water and brings it over to Bricu.

Where are the clean cloths?

They’re… they are. We were nearly raised together.

Here, Bricu.
* Annalea passes some over.

* Bricu takes a clean cloth and dips it into the water. He rings it out then mops Threnn’s brow.

So I was ten, and Anna was…

Nine.
* Annalea watches Threnn.

‘s shit.
You were seven. The Bells were nine.

* Indarra waits for another contraction, one of her hands – still clean – coming out to rest on the mound of Threnn’s stomach.

* Annalea nods at that. “All right.”

They sent us — our parents, that is — to Goldshire, before it was…
* Threnn cuts off, groaning.
‘nother, Indi.

* Indarra watches beneath the blanket and nods. Her eyes flick to Haemon.
* Haemon tilts his head questioningly.
Keep a monitor on the babe if you would?
* Indarra stands, swaddling her hands in cloth to keep them hidden from Threnn.

Is she all right?

Yes.

* Haemon nods and places his hands over Threnn’s abdomen, concentrating.

Keep telling the story, Threnny. They sent us to Goldshire.

* Bricu says softly, “for the love o’all that’s holy, would one o’yeh do somethin’ fer her godsdamned pain.”

* Haemon ‘s eyes flick to Indarra.
I have some herbs, if you do not think it will be a problem…no blood thinners.

As long as they don’t tire her. If it’s served in tea – perhaps cold tea, as she’s warm – I have no objection.
* Indarra looks at Bricu and Threnn.

…Goldshire. We had to buy something there, nails from the blacksmith.

* Haemon nods.

Shad, tell Kara t’get the water ready fer tea an’ some ice

Anna, you would do best with it. The goldthorn and peacebloom mix?

Got it.

* Haemon rises.
I will return with the water shortly.

After the tea, I’m going to start maneuvering you Threnn, with Haemon’s help. Your daughter’s head is through, but her shoulders are having trouble moving through. It’s nothing to worry about, it’s fairly common, and we have many, many options to make this easier on you. All right?

* Haemon listens to the last bit of the instruction before darting down the stairs.

All right.

* Bricu simply nods.

Story. Continue please.

* Annalea sorts through the herbs, finding the goldthorn and peacebloom.
* Indarra washes her hands again, trying to shield Threnn’s eyes from the pink pool growing inside of the basin.

Nails. John says the smiths in the Dwarven District don’t use the right ratios.

* Bricu mops threnn’s brow, smiling weakly.

* Threnn smiles at Bricu. “Did you know that? About the dwarven nails?”

No. No I didn’t.

Hnh. That’s odd.

* Haemon returns swiftly with two cups, a pitcher, and a bowl of ice chips.

Wonder if it’s aught ta do wi’ dwarven construction?

Dunno. Might be –
* Threnn grits her teeth again.

* Haemon sets the cups and pitcher of water by Anna’s work, and hands the bowl off to Bricu.

Bloody…fucking…

* Bricu leaves the damp cloth on Threnn’s forehead, taking the bowl with a fre hand.
* Bricu looks at the basin of pink water.

* Annalea sets about steeping the tea.
* Tarq is doing his best not to look like he’s hovering nervously.
* Bricu is clearly hovering nervously

I’ll need one more set of hands.
* Indarra looks around at the room, towelling of her hands.

The nails, maybe they work better in colder weather, yeah? Up in Kharanos?

One more than mine?

But here, ‘s…warmer. And… something.

Yes.

* Fells sputters, her eyes blinking at random intervals.
* Indarra smiles at Threnn.

What do you need?

Issit Winnerveil…?

No, s’Naiara’s birthday still.

No, but you could help deliver a present. Welcome back.

Oh, good…

* Tarq quietly facepalms.
* Fells sits up, pressing the heel of her hand to her temple.

Anna, I need you to lift her legs if you would, to her chest as far as you can get them. Haemon, I’d like you to continue monitoring the babe? And press gently on her lower stomach. I’m going to gently pull and try to get her past the pelvis that way.
We’ll need to coordinate this if not the next contraction, the one after.

* Threnn ‘s head swivels towards Fell’s voice.

Past the pel…
* Fells blinks.

* Haemon nods, and takes up position at the side of the bed.
* Indarra returns beneath the sheet.
So Stormwind nails are far superior, Threnn.
Good to know.

‘lo, Fellsie. Might not want to come around… Oh, this isn’t dignified in the least.

I’ve learned something today.

* Fells wobbles a bit.
Oh, oh -damn.- There’s sommat comin’ outta ya.

Not Stormwind nails.
Goldshire.
* Threnn sounds like this is the most important point in the world.

Goldshire nails.

Huh. I’m no’ sure I kin admit thit.

Goldshire nails.
I see.

Yeh could advertise off ay it, likesay.

* Indarra waits expectantly, looking at both Haemon and Anna.

“Get Proper Nailed In Goldshire!”

‘s a joke there, too, only, never thought of it till just now.
* Threnn lifts a hand to point at Tarquin.
Stole my joke.

* Bricu mops Threnn’s brow.
* Haemon bites his lip. Now is not laughing time. He nods at Indarra.

He is a professional, Missus.

‘s gotta be at least a day in the Stocks, isn’t it? Stealing a pregnant woman’s joke?

a fine.

Anna, are you . . .

s’a huge fine.

* Fells stares incredulously.

* Indarra pokes her head over the sheet to peer at Annalea.

I gots t’still be outta it.

Tea’s ready.
What do you need, Indi?

Excellent.

* Annalea brings the cup over to Bricu.

Get her some tea, and then lift her legs to her chest if you would.

* Haemon raises an eyebrow at Fells.

* Annalea comes around and places her hands on Threnn’s legs.
Tell me when.

* Fells pushes herself to her feet.
I can — I can help, m’here! M’here.

Next contraction hold her steady.

* Fells repeats, convincing herself more than the rest.

Threnny was telling us that Goldshire nails are far superior to dwarven nails, Fells.
* Indarra adopts the nickname and keeps her voice steady.

Far superior.

* Fells gawks.
Issat so.

So they sent us to get nails — NOT nailed. We were ten. And nine. And seven — and we went to the blacksmith’s.

So you and Anna were in Goldshire getting nails. What happened next.
* Indarra ‘s head disappears under the sheet, waiting for the next contraction.

* Tarq doesn’t even snicker at that.

And he was there, at the forge. That’s where blacksmiths work. And –
* Threnn ‘s voice climbs until she’s not really speaking anymore.

* Haemon presses gently on Threnn’s abdomen.

Breathe Threnn. Breathe.

* Fells covers her mouth.
* Annalea pushes Threnn’s legs to her chest, gaze flicking between Threnn and Indarra.

when the fuck is she gonna be able t’drink with yeh lot pushin’?!

She can’t drink during a contraction. Threnn, I want you to push.

All right.

Is this one over?
* Indarra pulls her head back up.
* Indarra looks at her.

I… Yeah.

Tea now.

Oi, drink this.
I figured as much.

* Indarra pulls her hands out, grabbing a towel to mop up the blood on her skin.
* Threnn uses Bricu for leverage and sips at the tea.
* Fells ‘s eyes go wide.
* Haemon gives Fells a warning glance.
* Fells offers him a quick smile. All good! Really!

Next contraction I’m going to pull her, and you need to push. Haemon, watch the bleeding if you would.

* Haemon nods.

Anna, same thing.

I will.

Keep talking to us Threnn. So he was at the forge . . .

* Annalea pats Threnn on the arm. “You’re doing fine.”

Ayeh, Goldshire?

I never thought I’d say this, but ayeh, I wanna hear ’bout the nails in Goldshire.

Bugger that love. Scream if yeh want ta.

The forge. Oh! The forge. He was making this sword.

* Indarra washes her hands one last time. She runs her sleeve over her own forehead and smiles, returning to the foot of the bed.
Fells, why don’t you get a blanket ready for the baby?
* Indarra tries to give the young woman something to do so her eyes don’t fall out of her skull.

And it was the most beautiful sword you ever saw. Not a king’s sword. A soldier’s.

Blanket, surely. No troubles.

Ask Kara. She’s got clean linens too.

We have some already. Stack on the chest over there.

He was finishing it as we came in. Got there just in time to see him quench it.

* Fells turns to the indicated chest immediately, all too glad for the distraction.
* Indarra tucks her head beneath the sheet, waiting and watching for the next contraction. She’s prodding, but she’s doing it as gently as she can.

Everyone else wanted to go see the bard at the Lion’s Pride. I stayed and watched him make a sword.
* Threnn looks around.
‘s it. ‘s… not a very good story, is it?

s’fine story love.

It is an excellent story. And educational.

It is.
If you don’t finish it I’ll be most disappointed.
Is that what inspired you to become a blacksmith?
* Indarra still sounds grossly matter-of-fact.

* Threnn doesn’t answer. Another contraction hits.

Breathe through it Threnn, and push.

* Haemon pushes down on her abdomen again.

* Fells grabs up what seems to be the softest of the lot, rushing to Indarra’s shoulder.
Threnny, s’fine, yer doin’ -so well- c’mon…

* Annalea resumes pushing on Threnn’s legs.
* Indarra reaches forward, her hand actually wrapping around the baby’s head and a bit underneath. She begins to pull her forward, trying to move her past the pelvic bone.
* Bricu squeezes Threnn’s hand.
* Threnn just pushes. She’s shaking from the effort.

och, love, just push!

That’s good, Threnn. Excellent. Keep pushing now.

* Fells holds her breath, staring openly.
C’mon, c’mon…

* Threnn pulls in a ragged breath and does it again.

* Indarra gets a grip and she smiles. There’s a give. One shoulder is past. With another gentle tug, on the second push, the second shoulder slides past.
There we have it. One more, Threnn. Just one more.

* Fells holds the blanket to her mouth. Wait no, the blanket’s for that tiny thing right there.

Oh, sweet gods.

One more love. Just one more fuckin’ push.

* Fells drops beside Indarra, blanket outstretched.
C’mon Threnny, yer near there, s’damn close…

* Threnn pushes once more, grabbing at Bricu’s hand.

* Indarra smiles as there’s a cry on the air. The baby’s abdomen is through and the rest of her presents itself shortly thereafter, sliding free of her mother.
Lovely job, Threnn. Lovely, lovely.

* Fells leans in, catching the tiny being that slips into the world more carefully than she’s ever done a thing before.

Och. yeh hear that love?
S’our wee girl.

* Indarra lifts her head out from the blanket, smiling at Haemon and Anna.

Is she all right?

* Fells nods dumbly.
Oh damn she’s amazin’.

* Annalea eases off of Threnn’s legs.

Fellsie.

* Haemon smiles back, asking after the bleeding in Darnassian.

Oi

* Fells laughs once.

No fuckin’ secrets.

* Indarra replies in Darnassian.
* Threnn strains to see.

An’ Fellsie. our girl.
Please.

* Fells rises on shaky legs, bringing the babe over to the proud parents. Or close.
Indy, the umn, cord…thinger…

* Haemon nods.
* Indarra pulls her hands free. She’s got blood on her lower arms, her dress. It’s fair everywhere. She mops at herself with towels and returns to her bag.
A moment.

Bric, promise, I’ll jest be one tick here…

* Indarra looks at Haemon.
You can heal it off.
If you’d be so kind.
* Indarra motions at the cord.

Fells.
S’our wee one there.

* Fells grins up at him, bright as day.
Surely is.

* Haemon moves underneath the sheet, separating the cord and letting Fells go with the child.

Thanks, now…

So bring her o’er here, please.

* Fells brings the bundle to the head of the bed.

* Tarq lets out a long breath, discreetly making his way over to the foot of the bed.

Sommat you two oughta meet.

‘s all right, love. She’s coming.

* Haemon sets to healing. There’s plenty to heal.
* Indarra goes about scrubbing her hands off in the basin.
* Bricu looks at Fells.

Congratulations both of you.

I’d like t’hold our wee one. now.
Or give her to her mum.

* Fells holds the swaddled thing out to him.

Easy, love. ‘s all right.

Was waitin’ on ya t’take her. Here.

* Annalea edges closer to Bricu, one hand dipping into a dress pocket.

Bricu’s lookin’ forward ta bein’ an oe’rprotective father.

* Bricu takes his daughtger.
Aye.
* Bricu smiles at his daughter, and beams at Threnn.
Oi.

Gonna have yir work cut out fir yeh, but.

* Bricu leans in closer to Threnn
S’our girl.

* Threnn seems to be counting fingers and toes.

* Indarra begins repacking her things quietly, keeping to herself on the other side of the room.

* Fells steps back, arms wrapped around herself and smiling like an idiot.

Do I get to say hello to my niece?

Thank yeh, Indarra.
Yeh can see her when her mum is done cooin’ an’ holdin’ ‘r.

You’re welcome. I wish you both joy, and Elune’s blessings.

Meanin, Annie, yeh prolly wanna get a room fir the night.

* Threnn looks up from staring at the baby.
Indi.
Thank you.

* Indarra glances up, already wrapping a cloak around herself.

Oi, hold our wee one love.

You are more than welcome.

* Threnn smiles tearily.

* Indarra swallows somewhat shakily.
I do think this is . . . in Haemon’s capable hands now so I will take my leave.
* Indarra bows, her bag clutched to her chest.

* Tarq strolls over to Indarra with excessive casualness, and opens the door.
Walk yeh out just a tick, will I?

* Haemon leans out from under the sheet to bow to her.

I’m glad you were here.

* Fells doesn’t even know when she -got- here.

Thank yeh Shad. Fells.

Heh.
* Fells nods.

* Indarra smiles and makes a Darnassian blessing with her hands, motioning at the child. She walks past Tarquin with a small nod.

Don’ mention it.

* Haemon smiles at Bricu, and ducks under to finish up.

Right back.
* Tarq follows Indarra out, quietly shutting the door behind him.

M’jest gonna…

* Haemon pops his head out a moment later.
Do you want to keep the placenta?

* Fells backs towards the door, so she doesn’t have to take her eyes off of them.

What did she just–fuck no—do?

Don’t think… no.

All right. What did who do when?

Indarra did.

She delivered your child?

* Annalea bends over Threnn, her fingers coming out of the pocket. She touches the baby’s forehead, lips and heart, and whispers something in the tiny girl’s ear.

She just did a blessin’. What kind o’blessin.
* Bricu makes a sign against the evil eye, just in case.

* Haemon blinks.

* Bricu smiles at Annie.

It is one I am familiar with seeing from the Temple, though I am not aware of its precise meaning. If it is ill, then surely the Temple has been out to get me for decades.

It was a good one.

* Haemon emerges fully, hands and extras wrapped in cloth.
* Annalea steps back, towards Haemon.

As long as its a good one.

She’s beaut’ful. Y’done -so- good, Threnny.
* Fells leans her back on the door.

Aye, yeh did love.
S’our Naiara.

So tha’s the name.

* Threnn nods.

Aye.

Naiara.

S’loverly. Y’named her well too.

Bricu picked the name.

Aye. Och, I suggested it. We agreed on it.

You two gonna be a’right? Can I tell Laz?

* Threnn smiles.

* Haemon wipes his hands clean. Clean-ish.

‘course you can.

Aye
go let everyone know

* Fells laughs.

* Tarq pokes his head back into the room at that.

Naiara Bittertongue

Wis ’bout t’ask oan thit, actually.

Yessir. Twist m’oomph.
* Fells is bumped out of the way with the door’s opening.

Guessing they’ll all be swarming when –

She should rest for a bit yet.
Give her a half hour at least before the masses are allowed in.

If yeh dinna mind – sorry, Drachmas – sure eno’ thit lot downstairs is twitchin’ wi’ anticipation.

Oi, one at a time.
no one’s holdin’ her yet.

Ayeh, ta be sure. Tell yeh what, Bric’ – gie’ me the honor ay announcin’ it at the floor, an’ I’ll do the job ay keepin’ the greedy buggers out until yir say-so.

Think Haemon might’ve meant me, love.

done.

Let ‘em have the night, Tarq. I — aw!

I did, yes.

* Fells frowns at him.

* Threnn smiles.

Don’t care what shad meant. One at a time for Threnny an Naiara. No one’s holdin’ her but us.
Oi. Go tell yer man.

You can both carry the news down there if you want.
Just be careful my mother doesn’t bowl you over.

* Fells gives Tarquin a good poke in the ribs when she passes.
* Tarq snorts at Fells.
Noooooo, let him, he’s the ruttin’ head’a the red an’ black. ‘sides, I wanna tell Laz.

Tell yeh what. I’ll tell ‘em ’tis a lassie, an’ then yeh tell ‘em they dinna get ta see her yet.

* Haemon gathers the various bloodied cloths from by the basin.

They’ll love thit.

* Fells grins at him.
Oh yer awful.
Like they’s gonna listen t’me, I’ll git -trampled.-

I try. First, but -
* Tarq swivels back over to the bed.
Mind if I say a quick ‘ello?

‘course you can.

Aye. Fells did. Yeh should too.
Naiara, this is tarquin. yer gonna have his job one day.

* Fells is so pleased.

I will withdraw to allow family time. The bleeding should be stopped. If not, Anna, I imagine you know herbs better than I. Call if you need anything, I shall be downstairs after cleanup.

* Tarq leans over, studying the tiny pink thing with a somewhat ludicrous grin on his face.
Naiara, huh?

Shad, thank you. So very much.

* Haemon smiles.
My pleasure. And apologies.

* Annalea stands up on her toes and plants a kiss on Haemon’s cheek.
Hell of a job.

I kin hear the world tremblin aready.

Everythin’ went well mate. Nothin’ t’apologize fer.

* Haemon purples a bit.
Thank you.

* Tarq straightens slightly to look at the proud parents.
* Fells grins.
* Haemon heads downstairs to offer the placenta to anyone who gets in his way.

Bittertongues, yir oan vacation.
Oan account ay a job well done.

OI! Shad. Get rid o’it completely!
Nothin’ left.

* Haemon calls back. “Yes sir!”

Och, that’s particularly brilliant o’yeh

* Threnn grins at Tarquin.

Least I could do, eh?

* Fells nods to the family and ducks after Shad.

Give us a shout when yeh kin tolerate the visitors.

Yeh did more than that. Aye we will
Give us a moment ‘for teh thunderin’ crowds, eh?

I’ll hauld the stairs at swordpoint, if yeh want it.
* Tarq sketches a bow to the suddenly-a-trio of Bittertongues and backs towards the door, picking up his hat along the way.

Kept me smiling. ‘s more than you think.

* Tarq has no response to that. He just shrugs, tips his hat, and exits.

Och…

* Annalea watches the new family for a moment, then simply nods and follows Tarquin out the door.

* Tarq shuts the door firmly, then reaches into his pocket and produces his cigarette case, looking like he’s found religion.

Och, missus. yeh did..och. yeh…och.

* Threnn settles the rest of the way back against the headboard, exhausted.
Everyone did.

Aye. We all did.
But yeh two did the most.
An’ the best.
Two soliders….strewth.

She’s beautiful.

Like her mum.

* Threnn smirks.
‘s just flattery right there.

I’m gonna need all the words I got, two beautiful ladies an all….

Aw, now.

* Bricu pulls a chair near Threnn’s bedside. The paladins marvel at their daughter, at a loss for words.