[RP] Echoes of Lordaeron - AAMS Delivery

[Surinda-cenarion-circle]

A small wooden box neatly wrapped in heavy linen is delivered to the AAMS office. The wrapping is secured with shopkeeper’s string, and a seal of blue wax affixed to the top of the package holds it all in place. A paper label is anchored beneath the seal. Written in a precise, practiced hand, it reads:

Deliver to: AAMS Office
c/o Kezrin Kanzelry
Booty Bay, Stranglethorn Vale

Unwrapped, the box is finely crafted and ornately carved; inlaid in gold, the lid bears the crest of old Lordaeron. The box appears to have been repurposed from its original use for this delivery. Contained within the velvet-lined interior are two scrolls sealed with the same blue wax, a sheaf of sketches, a full pouch of gold coin, and a letter addressed to Kezrin Kanzerly.

Dear Ms. Kanzerly,

Contained in this box you will find the items required by the AAMS to complete the delivery we discussed previously in Thunderbluff.

I am searching for two brothers - Thorin and Jairian Redrick. They are family to me, and I hope to reconnect with them, if they still live. We were separated when Lordaeron and the Capital City fell to the Scourge, and I have not seen them since that day. I have included sealed messages to be delivered to both, if they are able to be found. Each scroll is labeled with the recipient’s name.

To aid in the search, I have included a variety of sketches of both men. They are depicted as I last remember them - unfortunately, many years have passed since then, and I anticipate the likenesses are no longer entirely accurate. However, I hope they can still be valuable as a point of reference.

The sketches have been tucked inside the folded letter. Done in richly pigmented ink on crisp, heavy paper, they are well executed and dynamic, depicting the subjects from several angles and poses. They are small enough to be easily carried in a messenger’s satchel. On the reverse of some of the sketches are additional notes with physical descriptions and notable details.

One such sketch shows both brothers - the more youthful-looking of the two has an arm slung casually around his sibling’s shoulder. His manner seems jovial and outgoing, and he smiles broadly; while the posture of the elder is more formal, and his expression serious, yet kind. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The younger is labeled as Jairian; the elder, Thorin.

In this sketch they wear matching silver medallions around their necks, which have been drawn in such a way to catch the viewer’s eye. There is an additional drawing of the medallion on the reverse, rendering its design in detail. There is also a note, which reads:

Thorin and Jairian wielded the Light in faithful service as paladins in the Order of the Silver Hand. To remind themselves of their pledge, they had silver medallions crafted and engraved with the Order’s emblem. They cherished them and wore them always. The craftsmanship is unique, and may serve as an identifying feature if still worn.

The letter continues:

I have reason to believe that Thorin may be residing in or near New Stormwind. It is the city of his birth, and also the location of his last known whereabouts. He was visiting there when Lordaeron fell. We had connections to a child living in the city at the time - not of our own, but an orphan of Stratholme sent to live in the more peaceful southern kingdom. He was in the city to check on her wellbeing. Her name is Moreta Brandwyne, and there is a possibility that Thorin maintained a relationship with the child. Locating her may lead to him, as well. She would now be a young adult.

Sadly, I have no leads on Jairian’s whereabouts. I am doubtful he lives, considering we were both present in the Capital City the day it fell. While there is a slim chance he may have escaped, I do not hold out much hope. I thought perhaps he may have been raised into the ranks of the undead, but so far as I know, he does not reside among the Forsaken or their Horde allies. As long as a question remains to his fate, I will continue to search. Therefore, a letter for Jairian is included in the event he has defied the odds and still survives.

Please spare no expense in your search. To show my commitment, I have included an advance payment to cover any initial costs. In addition, the box originally containing this delivery is quite valuable. You may do with it as you wish. If more funds are required, please bill me for any additional charges. Notification of debts may be forwarded to:

Surinda Redrick
c/o Postmaster
Silvermoon City, Quel’Thalas

It is my wish that all efforts be taken to locate both men. In the event they are found, I will also pay the expense for the courier to remain until the letter is read, and a return response is obtained.

I thank you in advance for any and all attempts to complete this delivery.

With sincere regard I remain, respectfully,

Surinda Brandwyne Redrick

[Kezrin-cenarion-circle (Kezrin)]

“Miss Kanzelry, special package came for you while you were out. Left it on your desk!”

“Uh, thanks, Cori, I’ll go take a look.”

To-go box of food in hand, Kezrin headed upstairs to the AAMS offices. It took a moment to remember that, yes, she had been expecting a package, and of course it came in the moment she stepped out for lunch. Typical.

She set her lunch perched on the edge of the desk and carefully unwrapped the package, her eyebrows rising at the ornate box.

“Ain’t there s’pposed ta be a note?” She debated a few moments before opening the box and studying its contents. “Huh, well, that’s more information that I thought we’d be gettin’. Might actually find ‘em. Assumin’ the peeps are still alive, anyway. Right, better be passin’ this off ta the Alliance half.”

A quick glance at the bossgnome’s door showed Miss Kettlebomb was still out in her rounds. She didn’t smell any coffee, so Adassos hadn’t come in just yet, either. She’d handle the paperwork herself and secure the box in storage until an appropriate recipient could be found for the letters.

[Moreta-cenarion-circle]

The night waned as Moreta stared into the flickering lantern light, lost in thought. Cradling her teacup in trembling hands, she attempted a shaky sip. As she inhaled the aromatic steam rising from the cup, she sighed. Hopefully the peacebloom would calm her nerves and help ease her into the sleep that had evaded her thus far.

Where do I even begin? She wondered. She curled up tighter on the chair as she sat and tried to order her jumbled thoughts. So many questions…

Tonight had started off like so many others - with extra flowers left after the day’s sales. Often she would trundle over to the orphanage with the surplus, where the more fragrant blooms were saved, dried, and used for sachets to freshen clothes and bed linens. And so she went, expecting a typical, quiet evening.

Much to her surprise, a messenger waited there. For her. He was searching for someone, a man named Thorin Redrick.

A name she wished she could forget.

A single tear coursed down her cheek. Could the messenger have known the letter he carried would turn her world upside down? The words echoed in her mind, sharp as they had been when read.

“We had connections to a child living in the city at the time - not of our own, but an orphan of Stratholme sent to live in the more peaceful southern kingdom. He was in the city to check on her wellbeing. Her name is Moreta Brandwyne…”

Moreta was an orphan, that much was true. But the rest… She was from Stormwind! Not Stratholme, wherever that was. Her parents were dead, and she had no other relatives.

At least that’s what she had been told.

And what about the Matron? Moreta had never seen her upset like that. And the way she had avoided the messenger’s questions…Did she know? She had refused to tell Moreta anything more, even after the messenger had departed.

A sob caught in Moreta’s throat. Has my entire life been based on a lie? Her mind reeled.

How am I connected to all this? Who is Thorin Redrick? And why do they search for him? Moreta closed her eyes and visualized the man she had recognized from the messenger’s sketch. He was a regular customer that bought flowers and herbs from her from time to time. His tired smile, the sadness behind his eyes…a face that seemed so familiar… Why?

Her stomach dropped as a sudden thought crossed her mind. Maybe he’s dangerous…a criminal? She shuddered as she recalled the times she had sold him a flower to tuck into a lapel, a packet of peacebloom. Was she in danger? He had always been kind to her…

As she coaxed his image from her memory, something nagged at the back of her mind. Why did his face seem familiar even then? Until tonight, she had never even heard the name Thorin Redri–

Her mind froze.

Thorin. Redrick.
TR.

Moreta gasped and bolted upright as the thought clicked into place. No. It couldn’t be… She scrambled over to the small wooden trunk at the foot of the bed and threw open the lid. She pawed through her belongings to reach the bottom, where tucked away carefully was a bundle of old letters. She clutched them to her chest as she hurried back to the table.

Frantically, she spread them out, straining to see in the dim lamplight. Her hand shook as she touched each piece of paper. There. The signature line was the same for all - TR. She sank into the chair and stared in disbelief at the letters scattered across the table.

She needed to contact the messenger.

[Redrick-cenarion-circle]

Thorin took another drag on the cigarette and squinted as he gazed out across the sun-dappled lake. With any luck, he’d catch a breeze before he had to duck back behind the forge again.

He frowned down at the cigarette as it slowly dwindled to ash. Rolling it between two calloused fingers, he brought it back up to his lips for a long draw. He’d have to travel into the city soon - his peacebloom supply was running low. Again. He sighed, exhaling a cloud of acrid herbal smoke.

He hated Stormwind. Too many memories lurked in the dark corners there.

There were plenty of vendors selling the herb here in the village; it was easy enough to get. Yet he kept going back. His brows met in frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose with soot-stained fingers. Why in the fel do you keep doing this to yourself? He brooded silently. But deep down, he knew the answer.

The girl.

Long ago, he had promised to watch over her. And it was a promise he intended to keep, if only in this small way. He scoffed darkly at his own battered optimism. Light knew he had failed everyone else he had ever vowed to protect…why would it be different this time?

A shout from behind broke him out of his fugue.

“Oy! Redrick! Ye woolgatherin’ over there or what? Daylight’s a’burnin’ and them hoof nails ain’t gonna forge themselves!”

Thorin shot back over his shoulder - “Aye! I’m comin’!” With an eyeroll he muttered under his breath, “Don’t get your underdrawers in a bunch.”

He pushed himself forward off the post he had been leaning against and took one last pull on the cigarette. He grimaced as he dropped the smoldering stub into the dust at his feet, grinding it in with a boot heel.

He’d have to go to the city soon.

[Moreta-cenarion-circle]

Moreta moved quickly through the mage tower, her head down, in an attempt to look as inconspicuous as possible. How out of place she felt away from the hustle and bustle of the city streets! Normally she had no business that would bring her to the tower, but the clerk at City Hall had referred her here. Perhaps now she would find the answers she sought. She stopped in front of a doorway, glancing down at a paper she held in her hand. She looked up again, then back at the paper, and nodded to herself in confirmation.

She stepped through the doorway, into a room filled with shelves of books and scrolls and all manners of parchment. The air was heavy and hushed; nothing stirred but a few dust motes that swirled lazily in the light provided by the narrow windows set sparingly in the high walls. Shelf after shelf, the room seemed to go on forever, fading away into the dim light. Moreta stood for a moment in the shadow of the doorway as she peered around the room. Finally, in a small, nervous voice she called out–

“H…hello? Is anyone here? I’m looking for the…” She glanced down at the paper clutched in her hand. "…Archives and Records Department?”

[Redrick-cenarion-circle]

It was all Thorin could do to keep his hand steady enough to light the cigarette, and he cursed inwardly as the match singed his fingers. Get it together, Redrick, he admonished himself. You can’t keep falling apart like this. Over a week had passed, and his nerves were still a wreck after his run-in with that messenger from the AAMS…

An evening breeze ruffled his hair as he stood outside in the growing dark. Behind him, lantern light and the mingled sounds of revelry spilled out into the street from the doorway of the busy tavern. As he stood brooding in the shadows, he brought the cigarette back to his lips, its ember flaring in the night as he took a long drag.

Someone was looking for him, that was certain, but it sure as fel couldn’t be his wife. But whoever it was knew just enough to twist the figurative knife right into the worst of his emotional wounds. Thorin grimaced, grief etched deep into the lines on his face. Who would come poking around, asking after his wife and brother? What kind of perverted game was being played here? He didn’t know. Surinda was dead. After all this time…she had to be. Yet a tinge of doubt nagged at the back of his mind.

…but what if she wasn’t?

He shook off the errant thought with a shudder. Don’t go down that road, Thorin, you won’t like where it leads, he cautioned himself before his thoughts could drag him down any further into that pit of misery. Some questions were best left unanswered.

Thorin tapped the ash from the smoldering cigarette and distracted himself with another pull, comforted by the familiar feel of the harsh smoke filling his lungs. He sighed wearily on the exhale, scowling into the dark. Soon he’d find out what this was all about. So the letter sender wanted to pose as his wife? Fine. The sender had asked for a return response, so he’d sent one. Requesting proof. A humorless laugh escaped his lips. Good luck with that.

His thoughts wandered again. But if it truly were Surinda…he stopped himself short, crushing the thought just as thoroughly as he now crushed the butt of his spent cigarette into the dirt at his feet. He’d cross that bridge when it came. Or in this case, when the messenger delivered it. He sighed heavily as he turned and trudged back toward the light of the tavern. He only knew one thing for certain:

He needed another drink.

[Mikhaíl-cenarion-circle]

The aroma of freshly baked muffins surprised Mikhail as he walked into the empty AAMS headquarters. His nose involuntarily twitched as he tried to follow the scent to find these new muffins. Despite not caring much for the taste, he liked that they were just there for the taking if he forgot to eat yet again.

His ears bounced slightly as he headed downstairs to the break room and spotted the muffins resting on the table, on a simple plate in the middle of the room, broadcasting its existence. He occasionally stops to the sound of creaking wood underneath his feet–unused to the sound he freezes in place, looking around cautiously.

“Pfft. . . it’s all good.” He struggles with the creaking but manages to crawl over to the muffins, now examining the opaque steam rising from the warm pastries. “Huh. . . who cooks these anyhow, and when?” Asking himself that question he grabs two and throws one into his mouth, chewing one of them while moving to sit on the chair. His ears perk up to the sudden creaking of the furniture. “These things sure are noisy.” He lets out a heartful chuckle and puts the other muffin in his mouth.

Yesterday was a bit interesting. Once again he was asked to deliver another letter to that Mr Redrick–this time he was personally asked from Surinda by chance when he went to Mulgore. He found it amusing the wind happened to blow that way yet again, but it made sense due to him being the only one who knew where he was.

But it won’t be that way for long.

He puts the scrap of paper Thorin wrote into processing, so it would soon be sent to Surinda. Meanwhile he stays at the table to reflect as he wonders when kezrin will show up. He knew that telling Thorin that his wife was now part of the Forsaken, or just Undead, would not end well. He keeps his hopes up that he will know that family is family regardless; but he knew that if he shared that information he would never have agreed to make plans with her, continuing his accusations that this was nothing more than a prank.

He taps on the table to a tune and waits, humming to himself, thinking about the birds from his home. . .

[Surinda-cenarion-circle]

Surinda stared out at nothing, the book she had been reading open on the table, long forgotten. She closed her eyes wearily as she thought back through the current state of affairs. It was done. A new letter had been consigned for delivery.

Through her contact with the AAMS, she learned that a courier had caught up to Thorin two weeks ago. But according to Ms. Kanzerly’s account, the meeting had not gone well. Thorin had rejected her original letter, declaring it a fake, and had demanded proof of the sender’s identity. Surinda shook her head as she smirked cheerlessly. How fitting, she thought. It seemed that Thorin’s pragmatic streak was still running strong, even after all these years.

Proof… The word echoed in her mind as her gaze fell to her hands. From their position clasped lightly on the table, the indentation on her now bare ring finger was still clearly visible in the mottled grey flesh. She absent-mindedly rubbed at the spot where her wedding ring once sat…the ring that should now be on its way to Thorin.

He wanted proof, and she would oblige.

The ring itself would not be enough, Surinda knew, but the memories that surrounded it might be. A wistful smile crept across her face as she reflected back on what she had shared in the return letter - moments known only to her and Thorin.

The day Thorin proposed, during Winter Veil. The snow falling gently, catching in his dark hair as he knelt before her in the courtyard, smiling nervously, ring in hand…

And then later. A somber day. She reaches to caress his cheek, ring glinting in the sunlight as she traces the fine lines that are beginning to show on his face. They are standing outside, alone. She leans in to kiss him gently before resting her head against the cool metal of his breastplate. He tilts her chin gently upward with a gauntleted hand, his blue eyes meeting hers. A small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reassures her. “Don’t look so sad, my beloved. Stormwind is not so terribly far now, is it? I’ll be back before you know it.”…

If only they had known how far and how long the journey would truly be…

Surinda sighed, breaking from her reverie. Would a letter and a simple band of gold be able to break down the wall of doubt around Thorin’s heart? By the Light, she prayed, I hope that it is proof enough.

All she could do now was wait.

[Moreta-cenarion-circle]

((This RP was inspired by a pair of vignettes featuring Thorin and Surinda that were previously posted in the Daily Snippets thread. They happened just prior to the events of this RP, and have been linked here for your viewing pleasure. (And so they don’t get lost!) Enjoy.))

https:// tinyurl. com/y5k7z4us

((Remove the spaces since I can’t post links!))

[Redrick-cenarion-circle]

The noise and bustle of the tavern washed over Thorin unnoticed, as he rolled the delicate gold band between his work-roughened fingers. The lantern light danced along its surface, highlighting the intricate design. He knew it well. The engravings were not as sharp as he remembered, worn slightly smooth by use and time, but he could still clearly see the outlines of the letters T and S artfully entwined around the letter R.

Surinda’s wedding ring. He pondered this as he looked to his own hand, and the matching band he still wore. He had asked for proof…and it had been provided. A spark of hope stirred against the doubt in his heart. Perhaps…after all this time…

Gently, he placed the ring on the table, near the unfolded letter before him. The parchment, once crisp and smooth, appeared worn and dog-eared from his constant handling. How many times had he read it? He mused. By now he had lost count. Yet the ink remained bold, the script clean and precise. Thorin ran a hand across the page. Even now, I would recognize her handwriting anywhere. As he contemplated this quietly, he paused, and took a deep breath as he smoothed out the letter to read once more.

My beloved Thorin,

They say that when you are meant for someone, when you have found your other half, time and obstacles may do their best to separate you.

When Lordaeron fell, I feared I would never see you again. Much was lost on that terrible day in the Capital City. And in the aftermath, my mind was clouded by darkness. My hope stripped from me. I wandered without direction, burdened by the weight of my despair. The loss of you remained a constant torment, a reminder of my anguish. Years would pass before I found myself again.

My love, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my silence.

Much has changed, Thorin, but my love for you still remains. You asked for proof of the woman you married. So I send you the proof of my love - my most cherished possession in this world, and the memories that surround it.

This ring - do you remember the day you gave it to me? The day we first pledged our love to each other?
I will never forget…

Thorin closed his eyes as he embraced the memory. A shadow of a smile danced across his face.
He would never forget…

He stands in the empty courtyard, while snow falls gently in the moonslight. The world is hushed and still, wrapped in winter’s white. He smiles. It was perfect. Suddenly, a cheerful voice rings out in the crisp night air - breaking the silence.

“Thorin! There you are! Whatever are you doing out here?”

She is radiant in her Winter Veil gown as she crosses the courtyard to meet him, and he watches as she steps daintily through the fresh-fallen snow. She links her arm in his as she beams up at him, cheeks rosy with cold. By the Light, she is beautiful, he thinks.

“Come back inside, my love, or we’ll miss the dancing!” Her eyes sparkle with laughter. She snugs her cloak up against the chill, shivering. “Please, it’s cold!”

He smiles at her. “Not just yet. I want to show you something. Come with me.” Taking her hand, he guides her to a nearby bench.

“And what is it that you want to show me?” She gives him a puzzled look as she sits. He settles in beside her, watching as snowflakes catch in her long lashes. A lock of hair has escaped from her upswept plaits. He brushes it back from her cheek with a tender caress; his hand trembles slightly with nerves. He steadies himself with a breath.

“Surinda, I…”

He begins to kneel, ring in hand…

As the memory fades, he opens his eyes, and returns to the page written in Surinda’s neat hand.

You knelt, ring in hand…and in that moment, my love, I accepted. I pledged to love you until death, and beyond.

The letter continued, but Thorin folded it closed without finishing, the words already committed to memory. How wrong he had been. He sighed heavily at the thought. This was no joke. Only Surinda could know of the events shared in the letter.

And soon, he would see her again. A meeting had been arranged to take place at the AAMS headquarters within the week. Thorin shook his head in disbelief, as he tried to process all that had happened. It has been so long…

She was alive. The messenger had confirmed this, stating he had personally received the letter from Surinda’s hand. By some miracle she had escaped the devastation of Lordaeron. How, he could not fathom. Thorin’s breath hitched in his chest as he was nearly overcome with emotion. But that didn’t matter. She was alive. By the Light, she was alive. Tears spilled onto his cheeks as he closed his eyes, and a small sob escaped his lips.

Oh, Surinda…

For the first time in years, he offered up a small prayer. Light…thank you. The Light no longer dwelled within him, but perhaps, just this once, he would be heard.

[Mikhaíl-cenarion-circle]

67. . . 68. . . goes through his head as he counts each time the water went up and down the shore . 69. . . 70. . . how long will it keep goin’? Forever? He breathes in sharply and keeps counting. His heavy and salty eyelids open to look at the diming blue sky, the grey clouds overhead. 91. . . 92. . . I. . . I failed. . . .

He’d failed many times before, but each time it would crush his chest. He knew that dwelling on them wouldn’t help—he and his brother came to the realisation that they could not help everyone. In his mind he remembers those he helped, that recent Death Knight that lost his companion and who knew him before he turned into one—just like how he helped his brother after Rocco died.

Why did I fail this time? I thought I had gotten better. He sighs wearily and lifts himself up with his elbows, looking out to the sea with his lower half resting in it. Near the edge of the sea the sun set, slowly going under the calm waves, letting night take over. Watching it, he felt his eyes once again get wet, despite it becoming dry the few moments prior. He rubs his eyes with his arm while avoiding getting any sand that was stuck in his fur from lodging itself into his eyes.

He breathes in heavily, holding his position like a statue. His ears go limp and then so does his body. Sand flies around him as he falls back into its embrace leaving a loud thud noise. Thorin attacked Surinda: his own wife was struck with a dagger, splitting her hand. He walked in right after that happened.

What could’ve I done ? His eyes shut again as he remembers the scene. Surinda and Miss Ruthie were on the ground, her wound being put together somewhat crudely by bandages. Miss Kezrin was standing before Thorin. . .

Thorin. . .

All Thorin did was glare like a feral beast before trying to charge Mikhail.

And Ms. Kezrin tried to get in the way. She managed to stop him but Mikhail hated the idea he had to be protected—that someone could get hurt from his mistake.

Surinda did, and that’s what hurt the most. He brought them together and kept the secret of her being undead before the day of the meeting. My fault. . . and I couldn’t have fixed it.

If I didn’t go back into that room, if I had stayed at that inn after he already lashed out at me . . no. . . he had already attacked her. He would’ve left even if I tried to stop him.

After he got face to face with Thorin, he tried to leave. Mikhail couldn’t stand that, not with him seeing that he attacked his own family. He grabbed his arm and began to yell at him, demanding he apologise, demanding that he can’t leave until he does. He berated Thorin with questions about why he would attack Surinda, why he wouldn’t be overjoyed to see his own loved one again—one he thought he’d never see again because she died.

I was so stupid. . . even when the others told me to let him go, I wouldn’t give up. There was no way I could, but I eventually did.

“If I give up now, this can’t be fixed!” Mikhail yelled at Kezrin.

“If you keep trying, you’ll break it.” She replied.

And she was right. I broke it and kept trying to fix something that could not be at that moment. Idi-

No.

Mikhail again lifts himself from the water, standing up to see that it was now near dark outside. He lifts his head for a bit, his eyes still closed shut.

He hears the sound of a lark overhead and opens his eyes, suddenly infatuated with the bird’s song. Glad you’re happy. He lets out a weak smile and tries to mimic the sound of the bird, but what comes out is a strange guttural sound. For some reason he just laughed.

He grabs his loincloth and pants, dressing himself up before he walks to his house. He carries the rest on his shoulder and his feet feel lighter this time. “No reason to feel sorry for yourself—ya lose lose some, ya win some. Things will work out. Keep your chin up and keep smiling."