*****

The landscape didn’t change much, really. He had fallen; they had won. But the snowy desolation of Icecrown was still snowy and desolate, unchanged from the events that occurred inside.

Light-forsaken. The land where even sunlight would not shine.

The Light’s work had been done regardless; the Crusade marched onward, past the ever menacing gates of Icecrown, until the sound of Fordring’s voice echoed in the very halls of the Lich King. It echoed past the chambers of plague and blood, past the reanimated dead and willful, fanatic living, past the screams of Bolvar Fordragon and the screeching of frostwyrm and Val’kyr, until it reached the very halls of the Frozen Throne. And they had been victorious at the end.

The Lich King fell, but with such a terrible price as to be almost immesurable.

Aely walked, rather resolutely, past the gathering throng of people waiting outside and back to her tent on the Crusade grounds, ignoring the ever-increasing shouts and whoops of victory.

Not far behind, Arrens tried to trace her path, pushing his way through mobs of celebrating men and women and families searching for their loved ones in the crowd. He had seen Aely storm from the keep doors and tried to get her attention, but the loud, unruly crowd had kept her from seeing him.

Once he reached the bottom, however, she was gone.

He raced towards where he had last seen her and found an injured soldier sitting on the frozen ground surrounding the tents. Hurriedly, Arrens asked, “Excuse me. I’m looking for Aely Larsdottir. Do you know where her tent’s located?” The soldier never bothered to look up and instead flicked his thumb behind him in the direction of several dozen tents.

Arrens raced passed him, asking anyone and everyone where Aely’s tent was. At last, a bloodied, grizzled-looking Dwarf had an answer.

“Ye be lookin’ fer Dame Larsdottir, she’s like ta be o’er ‘n tha’ tent, lad,” he said, pointing towards a tent on the edge of the Crusader’s medic camp.

Thanking him profusely, Arrens got there just in time to hear the clattering of metal on metal. Fearing the worst, he yanked the flap of the tent open, only to have her sword come clattering to a stop at his feet, surrounded by a pile of hastily discarded armor. Her hands were badly scratched and bloody, and she’d picked up a nasty gash on her forehead but was otherwise whole. Relieved, he pulled her gently in against his chest. He whispered softly as he ran his hands over her hair, pushing it out of her face. “It’s over my love. It’s over.”

She leaned against him. “I ken. I saw. ’s just… na real yet.”

***Thanks for reading this post from Too Many Annas. May the Loot-Fu be with you***

Aftermath – Icecrown

This is the “Well, now what?” story – what does a Paladin who’s spent her entire adult life fighting Arthas do when suddenly Arthas is gone. How does she go back to life, how does she deal with the destruction of her homeland and family, and what will she do with herself now? How will her life be different, and how will it be the same?

In a way, the post from a few weeks ago, titled Old Breeds and Old Ways, is something of a prologue.

I’ll be posting the actual “Part 1″ tomorrow.

Until then, have you guys written stuff to deal with your characters post-Icecrown? Have you had in-game RP events to that affect – possibly revelry, or even some introspection? Was Arthas’ death a big deal, or just something your character helped with because their friends cared, or was it something that happened far away, with other people, and barely touched your character?

***Thanks for reading this post from Too Many Annas. May the Loot-Fu be with you***

Aftermath – Introduction

This story happened a little while ago, and is (in a lot of ways) a setup for things to come, both in game and things that you’ll see here. The Riders and other Feathermoon RP groups collectively decided to wait until 3.3.5 released to consider Arthas officially dead, and those stories are just now beginning. Some of them, you’ll be seeing here. Some will be Arrens/Aely fic, some more general, but I’m looking forward to writing all the stuff rattling around.

Hopefully you guys enjoy this little look into how the Northron Riders are preparing to deal with Arthas’ death.

Naiara Bittertongue, by Loreli of AOD Studios

Three weeks ago, in Stormwind. Two redheaded paladins and one little girl.

“The missus an’ I were a bit worried that our wee one wouldn’t be able ta play with a dog, ’cause she’s spent so much time with the cats. Then she went off an’ started callin’ Blue a kitty, an’ reachin’ out fer ‘im. I think our fears are misplaced.” Bricu said. He was leaning forward at the waist, holding his fingers out so Naiara could walk in front of him, but still grab on to something if she lost her balance–which she did frequently. She was still a little wobbly on her feet.

“So yir thinkin’ oan a dog?” Aely watched the little girl amusedly. “If ye take care with it, ’s quite possible t’ get one that’d put up wi’ a wee one, an’ what she could grow up proper with.”

“Aye.” Bricu said.

Naiara looked up at her father, then at Aely. “Ki-yee!”

“Aye love, a kitty. A dog Kitty. Can yeh say Doggie?”

“Kiyee.” Naiara said somberly.

“So aye, a dog. So in case someone else tries ta take her…”

“Fir protection too, then.” Aely looked over at Roger, laying peacefully by the door.

“Well, I canna offer ye any ay’ Rog’s pups, but I’m pretty sure Lady – th’ mum ay all those pups I found last year – I’m pretty sure Lady’s a wolfhound. ’s an old breed, out ay th’ really old North, ‘fore e’en Lordaeron wis a proper kingdom. Lotta old stories have ‘em as characters. They’re raised in Eastvale too now, pretty popular fir shepherding an’ farmdogs, ’cause they can take out a wolf if need be.” Roger perked up one ear, as if to acknowledge his name. “Real loyal too, an’ gentle. Like Blue.”

“Strewth, a Northern breed raised by Southrons. Tell me, have these folks been doin’ it fer long, or is it another necessitiy pushed by our Bloody Prince?”

Aely shrugged. “Long time, yeh, ‘least as far as I ken. Old kingly gift ay sorts, beautiful an’ loyal dogs. Th’ ones I’ve seen down here, like Lady, ‘re jus’ as fine as any I saw back North. Rog’s half worg, by th’ look ay things, but he’s likely ay th’ same air similar stock.”

“It’s the half worg I’d be worried ’bout. I Don’t want ta get Naiara a pup that’d turn on her in a year or two. That’d be ba….”

“BAWKS!” Naiara shouted.

“Aye, love. Ballacks. So, Aely, when can yeh take me ta this farm in Eastvale?

“Whene’er ye like, really – I’m na oan leave much, but I’ve got ’till Sunday ay this week. If ye’ve a date in mind, I c’n send word tha’ wir comin’.’s Threnny up wi’ a puppy?”

Bricu nodded, helping Naiara to balance as she stood up on tentative legs. “She’s more open ta the idea, since Thenia decided that she knew better than me an’ Threnny. I think ta really make it clear, I’ll need ta find the sweetest, most loyal pup–but one that’s got a back bone. IF yeh can help me with the breeders, then, an’ take me there on Sunday, that’d be brilliant. It’d also give yeh time ta answer a question I have.”

“Well, an’ a proper bred one ‘ll be all those things if ye train it proper. Sunday’d be brilliant. So wha’s th’ question?” Aely opened her arms, inviting Naiara to wander over.

Bricu let Naiara walk a few wobly steps ahead. “Yeh want ta host the Bloody Prince’s wake?”

Aely watched the little girl, quiet for a moment.

“Wake, eh? How’d ye figure it’d work? Mos’ folk are’na like t’ think oan him wi’ any kind ay… kindness.”

“The tenor o’what they want ta say doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s said, that dues are paid. The Bloody Prince will get what he has comin’, but we have ta make sure that we do what’s right. So we can heal proper.” Bricu shrugged.

“So, muir fir us t’ lay th’ bastard t’ rest, an’ less fir any sort ay kinship.”

“No lass, more like layin’ what he did ta us ta rest. Still. We’re killin’ our Bloody Prince. That has a price.”

Aely scowled. Naiara plopped down on the floor, looking back and forth between the two Lordaerii accents. “Aye – fir wha’s left ay Arthas Menethil. I’m na proper sure how much’s left, an’ how much’s jus’ th’ Lich King these days.”

“Does that matter? We’re doin’ the world a service, but he is still, and will always be, the Prince of Lordaeron.”

Bricu made a small, very old gesture. Aely ignored it.

“Does matter, ‘least when ye think oan it wis him wha’ killed his King.” She sighed. “I’m na sayin’ we ought na do it, jus’… well, I dinna ken wha’ muir we owe ‘im than th’ death he’s got comin’. We owe it t’ us, an’ t’ our home t’ lay him t’ rest proper, sure.”

“We don’t owe him, not like that. We have responsibilities. Traditions ta put right.” Bricu looked at the other paladin, rather pointedly. “Yeh hear o’the Erik?”

“Aye – ’s th’ price paid fir committin’ crimes. Like… th’ cost t’ ye fir doin’ sommat against th’ law.”

“Exactly. Ol’Lordaeron traditions. Somethin’ we can use ta help others heal. My idea is simple Aely: We get the Northfolk. Everyone brings their story an’ their Erik. We tell our tale an’ pay the price for our deeds. I’ve got a crown I’ve made… figure it’ll fetch a hefty sum fer a fund ta rebuild the North.”

“Aye. ’s a lot ay good can come ay that.”

“Aye..an’ let’s face it, when the bloody prince falls, it doesn’t do a …” Bricu grabbed for Naiara as she attempted to stand up under the little table, grabbing onto the dangling tablecloth to steady herself. “Doesn’t do much fer healin’ the hurt. It just cauterizes the wound.”

Aely nodded. “Aye – Revenge dinna actually solve anythin’, other’n th’ actual removal ay th’ problem. Th’ healin after – tha’s th’ hard part.”

“Northmen’ve been fightin’ the Bloody Prince in one way, or another, since he killed our King. Our hurt is the oldest in this war.”

“Aye, ’tis. So ye’ve a plan fir this?” Aely asked.

“Aye. I know who I’ll invite.”

“Those we go wi’? Th’ old North runs strong in the Black an’ Red.”

“Andrick, Chryste, Tarquin, Norvallen” Bricu frowned. “Feliche. Feliche thinks like us.”

“Aye. An’ Caltrains.”

“Dravir, Adel.”

“Arvoss. Edour. Balthasar.”

“Aye, Balthasar. Darrows”

Aely furrowed her eyebrows a moment. “Fuck it all, Taborwynn.”

Naiara bowed her head, “Bawks.”

“S’why it should be at the farm.”

Aely blinked, silent for a moment. “Yeh, aye.”

“Fact is lass….how many o’us have drifted since we lost our home? Turnin’ ta the old ways might give us a what we need,”  Bricu said.

“Aye, an’ if naught else, it’ll be muir closed ‘n just a “well, tha’s o’er”. An’ much’s some proper folk dinna like t’ hear it, th’ old ways worked fir a long bloody time.”

“Exactly.”

Naiara pulled herself up to standing, little fingers clamped tightly to the edge of Aely’s boot cuff. “Figured oan a time yet then?”

Bricu nodded. “Two weeks after the bloody prince is dead.”

“Sounds good. Gives folk time t’ plan fir things.”

“So, Aely, I can say that then? Two weeks after he’s gone, the Wake will be at the Farm?” Naiara pulled herself up into her father’s lap, nestling sleepily against his chest.

“Aye. I’ll plan fir things – crash space fir folk wha’ needs it. Ye’ll let me ken if’s anythin’ I need t’ do beyond ‘at, yeh?”

Bricu paused, thinking for a moment. “Just one more thing. Need yeh ta come up with a proper prayer.”

“Aye, I c’n manage ‘at. I’ll… do some readin’, I s’pose. ’s a differen’ sort ay last rite.”

“It’s somethin… somethin’ only yeh could manage. I’m not sure I could do it without cursin’.”

Aely grinned, rather without humor. “I’ll do m’level best t’ live up t’ that. Dinna promise oan na swearin’ though.”

“Good. That’s poetry from yeh. Common fu–earmuffin’–speech from one like me.”

“Dinna ken – ’s all Lordaerii. Th’ poetry ay th’ North, yeh?”

Bricu nodded solemnly as the little girl on his lap murmured into sleep.

“Aye…Aye it is.”

***Thanks for reading this post from Too Many Annas. May the Loot-Fu be with you***

Old Breeds and Old Ways