.
When he was a child the trees were so big that Sym was certain they could touch the sun. He spent his childhood climbing the trees and wandering. He always credited an avoidance for academia for his love of Quel’thalas’s forests.
But in truth there was nothing that surpassed it. The way the sunlight would stream through the trees and the wind caressed the grass alongside the road. The whispers of the creatures in the forest disguised as rustling grass and leaves crunching beneath his feet. The cold water in the rivers and the mana wyrms congregating around pools and crystals. The deep shade of green and the smell of the cold, crisp morning air. When the forest was silent it drew a feeling of reverence and peace. To see it green and healthy was to be at at peace. He loved it all. From the crunching of leaves beneath his boot, the flowers, the bugs, the leylines. Nothing compared to Quel’thalas, nothing. If there was ever a living embodiment of Quel’thalas then Symmathan would have been the most zealous devotee to carry out her will.
Centuries of service in the Farstriders had cemented his devotion. No matter the politics that went on or how her people changed, the scars and blemishes, it was as beautiful and full of mystery now as it was when he was a child.
Even if much of it was tainted with sadness and pain. Like the dead scar or the countless ruined villages in the Ghostlands. So much so that in some places he could smell sweet rot still- or maybe he simply dreamt it. The days after the third war had ‘ended’ were a blur of frenzied work and undead. No matter how many that had been cut down they rose up. Again and again and again, there were so many. Still were in more dangerous places. All of which he knew.
The most dangerous places in his mind were the ones where the forest had grown wild and was subtly warped by the echoes of the past and dark magic that lingered. Spirits still walked despite efforts to put all of them to rest. It drew a sharp pang in his heart whenever he saw one. They didn’t deserve this fate, no man woman, or any of the children did. Hw mourned for them all in silence, left countless offerings to try and appease them. But none of it erased the violent manner in which they had passed on.
He felt like that would be something he saw until he passed on, regardless of how hard he tried to send them to rest.
It had been days since he’d delivered his report and no matter what trails he followed deep in the woods. They all lead nowhere. Each clue he had found raised more questions than he had before.
The grey mold itself served no real purpose unless they were just aiming to destroy…right? It was only caught by plants and plantlife like the treants. But how did a human catch it? It lingered in his mind. He was not a practitioner of magic beyond the basic spells and crude druidry he knew. He did however, have an idea.
The least good place to go in Quel’thalas was a along her border where a small stretch of twisted and warped wood grew. It had been left alone for some time. It had been to long since they had enough time to inspect that small patch and see what lurked inside.
His last clue, he hoped it had something to find.
Tyleril Silversword 