#timerunning

Ingris Deepvein was perhaps too suited to the role of porter, monotone in tone as much as she was "monotone" in function. Like most Earthen Safrona found herself in dealings with in Dornogal, Ingris was a creature of logic and fact, going on to categorize her experience with the transport of resources beyond the Coreway with unnervingly precise numbers. 

In the droning of the Earthen’s numerical recounting, Safrona thoughts drifted with her eyes to the request blinking silently on her datapad - she was needed in K’aresh, again, though this time it would be an exchange of rumor from a set of ears on the underground. Lately all anyone could speak about was visions or voices of a “Shadowed Sun”, and more than a few interests pinned their attention on the name ‘Shadowsun’ as if she herself were some much too obvious threatening piece of the puzzle. At first it was a laughable coincidence to wave off, but it became not so humorous when her own sanity and dependability was called into question from strangers that only knew her by a name, dragging her business name through the dirt alongside hers with uncounted rumors. 

It became more ridiculous when Voidborn Cultists began ambushing between deliveries, manifesting on the spot when she was the most alone. They were not strategists, nor particularly challenging. Some were aggressive of course, coming at her with intent to unwisely bowl through her demons to take the warlock out at the core. And at other times the bastards seemed to manifest spouting the nonsensical drivel of the Old Gods, fallen on knee before her, inviting consumption. Their words were a seeping drill on the mind, and she gladly reprieved them of their souls to stop the Void chatter. She had never wanted to know Shath’yar, and she would not begin to now. 

The suspicion remained that the infested Voidwalker following in her shadow was the cause, but the Many Voiced Thing spoke in infuriating riddles and provocation. The Entity was better handled when banished, and silent. She banished it for other reasons, of course. Reasons deep and dry as salt. Where the Voidwalker’s evolution should have been something for the warlock to hold at acclaim, it only reminded her of her failure to free someone it had victimized. How much of the Possessed that had begged for her help even remained? Did they have any voice at all now, or were they now only stains of memory triggered by touch, by word, by scent that the Entity drew from? Tactile memory. These were shadow truths of the soul that made her shift uncomfortably in her own flesh, and stir in her long silence as she imagined It’s knowing, rictis grin growing ever larger with each question asked. 

“--a directive I inherit now, as my superior Corewalker has tasked me with in his passing.” The Earthen stared on Safrona from across her desk, awaiting response. The slight grind of stone against stone filled the lingering silence as Ingris Deepstone leaned forward. The white quartz embedded in her eyes shifted color to a concerned light blue. “Do…you have a question for me?”

Fingers dug slightly into the armrests of her chair as Safrona realized she had virtually checked out of the interview. She blinked slowly back into awareness and played up a smile, a nod of acknowledgement. “Yes, why don’t you tell me more,” she masked her ignorance with a neutral prompting, latching onto the last thread of information she was able to comprehend. “Is your Corewalker’s…you said directive? Is this your driving force? And how did that drive lead you to this interest in my Empyrean Imports?”

If a rock could frown, it would have, the way the Earthen fixated. “Well…again, Lady Shadowsun, I’ll say that I’ve always had an interest in organizing transport. Time sometimes feels like it slows to a crawl in Dornogal though, and my directive calls for more than what most of my people have se...”

Safrona nodded through the droning explanation, but the mention of time lit another space in her mind - the Bronze Dragonflight’s investigation into the roped timeline of the Legion Invasion was almost at it’s end, according to what her daughter had managed to inform. Safrona felt the drip of a slow regret fall on her that she herself did not take advantage of the offer to champion the Bronze’s research. Serenis had taken extremely well to not only her devotion to a new Path away from her little Lightsongs, but had grown in a rare sheer power granted through the Bronze Dragonflight’s time dilation. There was a concern in knowing the girl would be cut off from most of the world while absorbed into the pocket timeline, but it was a concern that dwindled really to nothing under the Bronze’s watchful eyes, building to an impossible state of power. Did theTimerunners truly feel like gods among men in their small time pocket? What would she have done with all that rumored power? To see the Legion’s army come again for her, Tichondrius’ kin seeking to again bind her to his power? To feel the keening loss again of someone great import to her, and to rage for it with the truth she knew now?

Serenis did not talk of the Legion in her letters, though she surely seemed thankful for the opportunity to learn of the event herself and be gifted with power. She talked of how beautiful the Temple of Five Dawns grounds was, and the impressive armies that came together to push back the demon’s efforts. How beautiful Suramar was and how useful she felt to have a hand in helping the Nightborne recover from their curse of hunger, as her mother once did. There was a mention of a dozen rare gifts of armor, artifacts, furnishings and transport mounts she could not wait to share when her tenure among the Bronze’s was through. And most of all she had written of the gifted power she would soon loose, but of how much she had gained in return with its grace and form. It had taught her courage, the little songbird had stated, and she no longer felt like she was a scared robin, trying to find a new cage to perch in.

No, Safrona decided in that moment of reflection of the only letters she actually desired to read. Timerunning had not been made for her, but she was proud of the little Timerunner that would  come home to her a new woman. With…a curious amount of gifts, apparently.

“--to know that I will work under the lauded Courier herself.” The Earthen leaned back after her words went unanswered, the grinding of stone against stone bringing Safrona’s attention back to the moment. The monotone voice could have lulled her to sleep. The voice seemed to flower with character as an air of disappointment rose through Ingris Deepvein’s chords. “Hmph. Lady Shadowsun, will it be better to reschedule this interview for another time? I mean no disrespect, but it is evident you are distracted.”

Safrona inhaled softly and presented the same tepid smile of professionalism. “No, there will be no need. I think Empyrean Imports will be glad to have you, Ms. Deepstone.”

“Deepvein,” the Earthen corrected indignantly. 

“Ah, yes. Apologies,” was the stiff response from the Courier. Extending her hand in the symbolism of a forged contract, Safrona let her smile bloom. “Ms. Ingris Deevein, I offer you a Shipping role at Empyrean Imports. I think you’d do well inside the office, getting to know our administration and what we do as a company.” The smile tightened some with an inward spite she directed surreptitiously at her sister. “You’ll be working alongside my sister Wenne who highly recommended you.”

“Oh-oh,” the Earthen stumbled as she lifted from her own seat to grasp the hand offered, much to Safrona’s discomfort. “Thank you very much! I am delighted to be part of the team. And eventually your Courier team if my skills meet the metrics for it.”