elfbruary2018 – Tyleril Silversword

Bitter Elfbruary: Acceptance

You killed him. Elivan.

Windsong sat in the kitchen of her other resting place, drinking and thinking. The bottle of hard liqours in front of her were opened as she mixed drinks for herself. It had been a long time since she’d heard that name.

Monster.

It was said with such venom. So much venom that had built up over such a short period of time. Windsong had no idea who her sister knew that had given her that report. But when she downed the small shot decided it didn’t matter. The damage had been done already. The distance between her and her sister had grown to far to be repaired. Any bridges she had attempted her sister burned and tore into her with words. There was no defense Windsong had offered up. No need to give any information on more things her twin should have never known.

You’re a horrible mother.

That one did sting. More than Windsong thought it would. The house was quiet save for the sound of the wind caressing the outside of it. “Do I care?” She asked the kitchen. It offered her no answer, probably for the better.

You’re not going to say anything?

“No.” For her twin’s own good and to preserve her sanity. “Not for your comfort, not for mine. Some things we are better staying ignorant.” Her twin’s eyes were hard and watching her in her anger was like seeing the sky darken and clouds roll before a severe storm. It was coming whether it was wanted or not and when it broke free of the sky it would mercilessly pelt the rooftops and howl out its anger.

You comforted me at his funeral. We all thought he’d gotten sick.

Windsong shrugged at stared up at the kitchen ceiling as her mind relived the memories from the morning. “He was a murderer. The state gave orders- is what I would have said if I didn’t want to throw oil onto the fire.”Windsong wished, not for the first time, she could have seen it coming. But she had never done divination purely for herself. It was too dangerous.

The ability to learn secrets, peer into the future and past, different futures. It grew tempting to try and see your own, to see… so much. How to do better, to always win, to have the best of everything and never suffer hardship. “But such is life that without hardship or sorrow we become fat and complacent. We forget to struggle, forget what it means to be who we are. Those that do not suffer have never lived. Combat is one thing. To rely so much on seeing solely for my benefit…comes with so many downsides and difficulties.” The wind outside the house drew noise and the sky had darkened considerably. It was soothing.

Monster.

“That I am.” She agreed with her sister’s last word. But no regret welled up inside of her, no anger, or bitterness. Just acceptance of her actions. The liqour dulled the edges of the world, enough to allow her less pain. Briefly. So she stayed in the kitchen, listening to the storm outside. the ghosts of the past that lingered in the home were not loud enough to dull out what was inside of her mind tonight.

Liquor and time would take care of it.

Exhausted Elfbruary: Sweetness

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Rai’thas & Alexander,

The world would be cold and grey without your laughter and smiles. They’re only sweets but maybe the sugar rush will help you get through the day. For my Sunlight and my Starlight.

All my love,

Tyleril

Rey,

I hope the whelplings didn’t take your candy and champagne away. My lovel flower, my wonderful dragon. The thought of seeing your smile gets me excited and gives me the strength to make it the rest of the way to you.

All my love,

Tyleril

@teamdoodledork @razxion

Exhaustion Elfbruary: ‘Lost’

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Centuries ago..

It had been all good and well to accept the human priest’s invitation for food- he’d grown tired of his own cooking and the road. An inn with a fire, cold ale, and a chance to eat the delicious food he’d been smelling everyday he’d been working. He was on his way to Dalaran and had been scraping and saving every coin he could. He barely had a handful of silver and one very dirtied gold piece for his efforts. He didn’t think he was being paid enough for doing the hard labor of an apprentice. His father- Tyleril pushed the thought away.

His family wasn’t important anymore. What was important was going to Dalaran. He had plans for his life, ambition that fueled every single hour of grueling blacksmith work. It was true he was not very experienced with it or good with handling his coin.

But he was going to be a mage, damn it all. Being born with no ability in the arcane was beyond humiliating. A -high Elf- that got dizzy after casting magic missles. It made his face burn at the memory. There had to be another way to…make him more of a mage. Dalaran was as far away from home as he could imagine going.

Dalaran was his ideal.

When his work had finished for the day he happily slipped away, putting the dirited coppers into his bag. The local inn was a small establishment, dimly lit on the inside with -candles- of all things. Chairs and tables made from wood, the floor packed dirt, and the smell of smoke hung in the air. Compared to the inns at home he found it to be bottom of the barrel. But the promise of food was enough to make him disregard what he deemed ‘low quality’ as he sought out the priest, sitting comfortably on a bench against the wall.

“Priest.” He greeted with a bow of his head. No matter how often he had spoken with them in the months since he left home humans always struck him as odd. Short ears, short lifespan.

The middle aged man gave him a broad smile. He was short for a human with weathered skin, red hair that brought vibrant red autumn leaves to mind and eyes that bore all the color of a muddy puddle with their grey and brown coloring. “Ty, I was hoping you’d come.Please, sit!” He extended a hand out and Tyleril was careful to squeeze it gently before sitting down. “I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come here.”

“It’s fine.”

The lecture or attempt to persuade Tyleril to join the Priest’s religion never came. Instead he asked topics about Quel’thalas, how he was finding the lands south of his homeland, should he shoe his horse or not if he was going to travel? It lead to a far more friendly discussion of their travel plans.

“Dalaran? I’ve been there. This might be rude to ask but what plans would you have there if you aren’t a mage?” There was no judgment in the Priest’s tone but Tyleril still flushed anyway.

“There’s ways to increase your capacity for magic and I can still find work there and find an apprenticeship or entry to a school somehow.”

“As an apprentice elven blacksmith who’s not even a hundred? I might be wrong but every elf I’ve met seems to be…older. You do a fine job with your work but what does it get you to become a mage?”

“There are very few who have no talent in magic. Magic is everything.” To afford his own place, to get clothing, to never go hungry or to -go back- to the family home he refused tro recall. “I’ll live for a long time. I’ll find a way in.” how he would, had never quite came to mind. But he was sure he’d find it.

The priest scratched at the white peppered beard on his face. “Yes, but that would be a very long time indeed. I’m sure you’d get to it eventually but there’s other ways to get the kind of power you seem to want that comes with becoming a mage.”

“I never said I wanted -power-. I just want to be a mage.”

“I was a mage’s apprentice once- I could teach you some of the things I knew.” He grinned wide enough to show teeth. “Not much but by the time I went close enough to Dalaran again you’d know the ropes.”

“What do you know?” It seemed far to convient the holy man knew magic. “Does skill in the arcane equal holy magic?”

“Not in the slightest.” he admitted. “But I know the basics. I could have been a mage but the Light called to me more than the arcane. I’ll be heading towards Dalaran and reach it sometime by the end of the year.” It was the beginning of the year now and he’d barely made any progress since he’d left home. “I’m getting old for my kind and you’re not getting paid enough for the work you do here.”

“I’m not.” Tyleril agreed as he looked around the inn. He didn’t mind the people he met here but there was so much more in the world than this tiny trading post. Walking around with a Priest and moving sounded far better than working here. “There’s none of this going in circles bit? You’ll be in Dalaran by the end of the year?”

“I’ve got some places to visit, things that are required of me before I go. But I’ve got enough coin if you’re wanting to come along with.”

A chance to get out of here and hit the ground running in Dalaran was something he couldn’t pass up. “Deal.”

It was a long trip to Dalaran and proved to be a rough year for the young elf. But an important one.

Bitter: New to Town

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(Mildly nsfw.)

It was stupid to keep going forward. But she was angry, furious enough that it drowned out the fear and healthy self-preservation. Keeping low she moved through the derelict building, sticking close to the walls until she could see light outlining an open doorway. It burned her eyes, stabbed her mind with needles as she moved towards the doorway, red light pouring around her.
It was stupid to keep the spell up as she moved, focusing on that one possibility she wanted so much she didn’t see

The blow coming that drove her to the ground, concrete pressing against her chest, gravel digging into her ribs. The spell broke with her concentration and immediately the world felt better as the burning pain faded from her eyes and needles stopped stabbing her mind as it no longer needed to process countless maybes. The cold sharp tip of a sword was pressed against the back of her neck. “Let go of the daggers and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Windsong was stupid but it had its limits when a sword was pressed into her neck. Slowly she held her hands out, setting the daggers down and kept her fingers straight. “Hands behind your back.” He said coldly and she barely had time to move her hands before something cold grabbed them, encasing them in ice and tugging her hands behind her back, arms pressed together until her elbows touched. The sword lifted from her neck and she was roughly turned over as.
“Song?”
Windsong squinted upwards, recognizing the voice. “Hello Dawnfeather. Nice to see you out of the infirmary. Did you miss me?”
“I can’t believe you.” His voice was harsh as he sheathed his sword and with a snap of his fingers the shadow priest’s magic dissolved. “What were you doing here? This place was shut down.”
She rolled her shoulders now that they were freed, taking Dawnfeather’s offered hand and pulling herself up with it. “Following a lead on the hottest new killer in town.”
The end of the Solidarity festival had brought relief to the city as chaotic elements briefly subsided, slipping into shadow. It was a pyrric victory at best. The state had tried to clean house. But Murder’s Row, with all the loss, was thriving, albeit quietly.
Much of the chaos might have subsided but it had also drawn other things from the scum. A serial killer was on the loose.

“Dammit Song. Nobody left the building.” Dawnfeather’s pocketed face turned to look around the alley. “Did you check the roof?” He turned and went into the building, not seeming to need a light to make his way through the darkness. “Hey, Dawnfeather, you can’t follow them and take him on. It’s not just a deranged blood shaper this time or some necromancer.”
“Them? Who is doing it then if not ashaper or necromancer?” He stopped and looked at her. Even with one arm and the breathing problems he retained from the incident Dawnfeather was still a force to be reckoned with among the inquisitors. He listened to her summary of the murders with a grim face, purple eyes serious.
They had started in Eversong, at first simply chalked up to animals. But the Farstriders had investigated, finding evidence to connected them and the trail leading towards Silvermoon. Nobody had liked what they had sent in their report.
“Worgen? We have a list of known infected but they’re kept watched. Can you find anything? We’ll need whatever we can get before we start-.”
“I saw the worgen.” She interrupted, cutting him off. “ The last scene where the body was strung up and partially consumed was where I found blood by the broken window. I used the blood to try and find the killer and it’s lead me on a merry go-round trail all over the city. But we can’t start harassing the infected. The city already tried to clean unwanted elements from it.”

He looked around the dark room, one arm moving to rest over his chest. Violety eyes were as hard as gemstones as he looked up to her. “The city will clean them out for good if it’s discovered a worgen is involved and it’s not the purist’s gone mad.”
“Which is why I need you to search quietly and buy some time for me. If the city starts purging the infected we’ll lose good people. People with families that already comply with the demands the city makes of them.” Dawnfeather knew her to well, could sense her emotions. “What will you do if I can buy you time then?”
“You haven’t been out towards Gilneas Dawnfeather. You have no idea, none at all, how dangerous they can be. A worgen can lop faster than you can ride your hawkstrider through Silvermoon. It’s jaw can snap your bones with one jerk of muscle. It can see the heat of your body and with only starlight could count the stray hairs on your head forty paces away. The worgen only needs to be half that close to hear your heartbeat. They’re six feet tall and their claws can tear through the best leather armor.”
“Learning about how easily the worgen kills doesn’t help convince me to buy you time Song.” He didn’t say it but they both looked to his left arm, missing just below the upper arm. Ignoring the guilt that rose up in her chest she sighed.
“Because this worgen is eating them. They’ll play with their victims like cats and paint the area with ribbons of flesh and blood. This one went unnoticed in the forest because of the chaos from the Solidarity festival. But it didn’t have a reason to move here and it certainly didn’t lop through the front gates. Whatever is going on it’s not another ‘they got bit and went mad’ cases. I don’t need a lot of time. I just need some time.”

“Fine. But only until tomorrow evening. If you can’t show me anything by then I’ll have to report and look at the list of infected. But you will have to bring me that information so we can catch the killer before anyone else dies.”

“I can do that.”

Maybe.

Possibly not.

Part 2: Painter’s Quarterly

Elfbruary: Day 5 “Changes”

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By the time Mal found civilization he understood what had happened to his people in the time since he had gone to serve. Sin’dorei now, they were. The Sunstriders ruled no longer. So much of their people had been wiped away by the undead. It made his heart ache to see so much gone and lost. The tall arcane buildings from his youth and the easygoing people had been replaced with blood red and black, but the people that remained were like reforged elven sword, born again in the blood and made stronger for the pain they suffered.He liked that.

Stronger was good.

She needed strong people to serve her once more.

But who would lead them?

The thought drew a grimace as he shook his head. He did not want to -lead-. He taught. Taught them how to use shadows and blood, spiders and venom. Philosophy and-Mal stumbled, pain stabbing his feet like thousands of sharp knives.It had, truly, been far to long since he had worn this armor. Too long since he had left Her side. In that time he’s grown weak, body suffering to walk even half of quel’thalas when once he could have easily walked the entirety of it. Once he slowed the rest of his body chimed in complaints. His back throbbed dully, promising muscle strain, blood leaked through a break in his skin where it had been cut. His body screamed in protest at the lengths he’d pushed it to.

“No.” He rasped, feeling the leaves in his hair move when the wind raked its hands through it. “We have so far to go. So little time.”Only once had he been broken.

Never again since had he yielded without orders to do so. Her orders could not be fulfilled if he died by exerting himself through foolish effort, however, so with effort he forced himself to move.

A place to stay would suit him fine. Just for now. briefly.

He had no coin but he bartered away from of the jewelry he wore to buy a small space and food. Gold was always an acceptable currency, especially in backwaters and villages with little space to complain. Soon more currency would be needed, once he could find whatever was currently used as currency here. A mental note was made to find what was currency and to get more. But for now he rested, sitting atop the bedroll in a building that had seen far better days. Derelict, that was the word for it.

Tepid water rested in a bucket within reach and it was with the greatest reluctance he took his armor off to tend to his aching body. Antiquated armor was dropped where it fell and for the first time in countless years he saw his own skin. He had never been he sort of man to call himself handsome or pay attention to his reflection in polished metal. But he recalled what he looked like before he went underground.

Dark curly hair with silvery blue eyes and a firm angular jaw, muscular, tall. But the … -creature- that stared back from the depths of the water bucket was not the elf he saw in polished metals and glass.Golden catlike eyes stared back, pupils large in the dim light of the room with a noticeable greenish tint to his skin that went from yellow to white at the tips of his ears. His hair was still there, in a sense, black leaves that shined blue-purple as he tilted his head. His skin beneath the armor had peeled, yes, nothing that was unexpected there. But it was thin, like paper now and what he thought was blood proved itself to be golden sap. His hands were clawed, once slender fingers now had skin like hardened back with black tipped points that brought thorns to mind.It was too much and Mal pushed himself away from the bowl to simply laid down on his back and absorb it all.

“What am I?”The ceiling offered no answer, not did the sounds of the small party at the inn’s bottom floor provide any. There had to be one however, and he racked his brain to find it. Searching through his memories was like searching through discarded trash. So much had been thrown away to survive that he had no idea where to start. It made his heart begin to beat rapidly when there was no apparent answer.It was one thing to rebuild for Her. Another to continue as she desired.

He had not realized how much of himself had been lost in the process.

Exhaustion: Bitter Truths to Swallow

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Once a year since the Fall, he made the attempt to get away for one day. He didn’t always manage it but Tyleril tried to get his child a sitter to take the day off. He implied it was business but in truth it was not. It had never been, not once in over thirteen years. Perhaps Samiel’s original sitter thought it was business with all the care he put into his appearance.

He woke up hours before the dawn to prepare, taking great care as he ritualistically bathed himself and put on his jewelry and makeup with great care. He never wore the make up the rest of the year but on this day he was always perfect. There was so much jewelry that he heard it as he walked and he wore his nicest robes. Red, black, and gold, embroidered and made from mooncloth. Only worn for special occasions. Funerals, births, sermons, ceremonies. It always smelt of incense when he put it on and the cloth felt heavier than the shoulder pads he wore.

It was only after he had deemed it perfect that he let himself attach his blacksmith’s hammer at his belt. The world had changed from when he was younger- there was no need to carry a symbol of your profession any longer. But he liked to remind himself of what he was without the Light, priestly robes, makeup and jewelry.

Just a man. That’s all he was.

And when he deemed himself done he would leave his home and head out to the woods. Where he finally stopped was of no matter to him. It was always a solitary spot close to water, a hilltop, next to flowers. Anywhere that felt right.

When he sat down and settled he took a few moments. To think and reflect. He pushed away the truth often, buried unhappiness beneath smiles that weren’t really there. He avoided the truth. But that one day he picked through all of it.

He didn’t know why he did it. A sense of guilt or maybe he enjoyed the sad memories or the bitter truths. But it felt important not to lie to himself and to focus on truth. It always felt bitter. So horribly bitter to remember and so much harder to force himself to try and let it all go. It tasted like bile, all the memories did. Not just from this year, but from his whole life. So many decades.

So much that was so bitter to recall.

But at the end, however poorly or well he managed to deal with it all he always turned to the Light when he was done. Felt its grace and forgivness wash over where he couldn’t forgive himself.

It was nothing he deserved but the Light gave him anyway.

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The sky was wide and deep, a brighter blue than any he ever could recall beneath the ground. Save for his dreams or on cloth, the color did not exist. Grass was an oddity, as were trees and the tall sticks of wood that jutted up from the ground. Mal knew the names, he was sure of it as sure as he was that the weirdly tinted flesh on his arm was an illusion.

Was he not a plant? No, Mal decided as he felt his head. Tall ears, pointed ears. How long had it been since he had seen the world above? Everything here was…wrong. Twigs and dirt snapped and crunched beneath antiquated, heavy plate boots.The temperature in the world below as almost always the same but in the morning here it grew -cold-. Whenever he had last ventured above was it not warmer? All of these things he knew would be less strange in time, the words and things he had forgotten would return with time.

Time, however, had not stopped when he left the above world. So many things he recalled in his mind that were no longer there. Where were the blue houses and silver shields?

The further he walked from Her, the more he began to wonder if his kind had died out. Were there no more? His body protested loudly as he forced himself onward. Aches in his boots would become blisters, muscles growing from fatigued to strained, even as the rain fell.

Mal, Mallet, malard- no, that was a duck. Malthes. Maell, Mallo…it would come to him but the name stayed frustratingly out of reach. It did not ease the rising anger to remember all of the other words when he could only recall his title.Titles had no use, bore no fruit when others did not recognize the importance of it, failed to see the weight of it. His hand clenched around the last thing She gave him. If he fed strength to it she would recover, restore what was lost.

Rain continued as he finally found a road and began to walk. The stone eased his stress. Something more familiar beneath his feet. Carefully the necklace was slid away, beneath the armor and clothing where he felt it rest in the hollow of his neck.

Onward towards the closest city. Buildings of red and gold became visible.