It had been a long time, in fact she couldn’t remember the last time she had walked the darkened halls of the Row. It caused a flutter in her heart, the choking pang of what had once been making her pause outside the Inn. She could just as easily have walked through to the Exchange, it would have made no difference in her walk, after all this was to clear her mind and help her sleep...wasn’t it?
Straightening out her deep violet and blue skirt, the petite blonde straightened her back, held her head high and began to walk. Up the long hill she did not look to the right, though she could see herself sitting just on the edge, cold slender arms wrapping around her as black leather clad legs slid around her waist.
‘Sissy I’ve missed you, my Ice Princess.’
She was dead. Syrif had received a letter from the post master and a small trinket but she’d done research, sought out the answers. After Diaage’s fall she had always secretly remained hopeful her sister would return to her, but the raven haired beauty that had been her greatest protector, her greatest friend...was truly gone forever. The letter and the talisman were locked away in safety in the bank, away from prying eyes where only she could go to see them when she felt slightly nostalgic.
Some faces didn't change, Syrif smiled faintly when she saw the tall scowling Knight in his same spot as always. She had found it amusing, though she had scolded her sister for it, the rivalry between the High Lord and the Mad Dog. It was stress added to their Lord, she had said, but she had to admit watching her sister threaten the elf with a hand cannon had been funny. She wondered if he remembered that, if he remembered the little family that had the right side of the Row while his seemed to own the left side. Probably not, the annals of time wore on even the sharpest mind, and Syrif couldn’t imagine the Knight being nostalgic when he had so many people around to contend with.
There was where she had been called to fix the worst rival she had ever seen, if only because he was so very bad at it. The priestess frowned at the lamp post, the body on the ground had nearly been dead, it’s throat slit, but Orophin had asked and she had healed them. Later the man would attempt to kill both herself and her Lord but he hadn’t seemed upset at the time when she’d reported back to him. Truly it had lead to a small amount of peace, but elves like that rarely kept peace in their hearts, after all Lord Valadil had been on top, and that was what the other had wanted most dearly, but without the consequences she and her family had faced day after day.
Every time that name had been said, the soft monotone voice could have whispered it and she had stopped whatever she had been doing to come to heel. She had said her vows the day he’d put a gun to her eye and had warned her not to lie about her loyalty ever again, and Syrif hadn't. She had proven herself over and over again, taking over the master healer’s spot, learning shadow healing to better serve him. When her tutor had thrown her out into the world with a druid at her side, Syrif doubted he’d meant for her to aspire so greatly, but the priestess had, and had succeeded in nearly everything she’d ever tried...until now. The memories plagued her, she had chosen to step down from her second position, she had turned her back on her family and it had fallen apart as so many had turned their back on him. Lord Valadil had despaired, and there was nothing she could have done for him. Now he was gone, and she was left with memories and regrets.
‘Miss Sunblade, you aren’t paying attention..’
Syrif paused from her inner machinations, looking around. That hadn’t been a memory, for an instant she could have sworn the elf had been standing behind her, the faintest hint of disappointment in his tone. It was then that she saw it, a young male elf on the ground, bloody and beaten by two larger older elves in masks. It only took her a second to recognize the blue and black tabard she had worn proudly for years before she was heading over, eyes narrowed and lips turned up in a disappointed scowl.
“Pardon me, gentlemen. May I ask what you’re doing?” she made sure her voice was strong and loud, it rang around the darkened alley but she kept it neutral, no threat, no emotion, just a genuine curiosity.
“This bastard ‘as somethin’ we was told was ours.” One of the masked ones said, turning to eye her, and Syrif could see the calculating glint in his gaze. “Nothin’ to concern y’self with.”
He moved to kick the body again, and Syrif moved lightning fast, the holy light inside of her erupting into a chain that pulled the disheveled and beaten body to her feet. The elf stumbled, eyes going wide as he looked at her.
“I said not to get involved, bitch!” he snarled, daggers coming out from hidden sheaths on his hips. His friend seemed not to say much, but he followed the motions.
Syrif smiled politely at them. “I will explain this only once. He is under my protection, and under the protection of my Lord. If you come near him, or me, I will make sure that the world you live in right now is but a fond memory to what I will do to you.” she called upon the shadows then, their power becoming more familiar in the months prior. They circled around her, pulling close, closing around her form, her eyes gleaming violet in malice.
“You can either choose to leave now, or I will end you. Make your choice quickly. I don’t offer second chances.”
The two paused, watching her uncertainly, but finally the mouthy one sneered and put his weapons away. “Fuck you, bitch, ain’t worth th’time.” he snarled and moved into the shadows, his friend following him.
Syrif quickly shed the shadows once she was sure they were gone, kneeling and letting the holy magic flow into the fallen youth. Green eyes opened sluggishly, and the ginger haired boy looked up at her in confusion. She smiled at him, brushing fingers over his face to heal the broken cheek and mop up blood with a cloth. “Shh, it’s alright now. They’re gone.” she promised him in her musical tone that she used to channel her spells.
“Miss...Sunblade..” the boy said softly, and Syrif almost lost her concentration. That wasn’t the boy, that wasn’t his voice, that was his voice...that was...
“Lord Valadil?” she whispered, and the youth’s smile turned up, a sinister look that twinged at her very soul, because that was the look she had always seen just before the raven haired Lord had done something ridiculous.
She didn’t need to wait long, a bag thrust in her hands and the youth rolled away from her. He went up on his knees, reaching out to gently trace bloody fingers down her cheek, leaving two smeared trails to her chin.
“Find what you need, Miss Sunblade, and you’ll find me.” the youth said in a stolen voice, before getting up and casually turning to stroll back into the shadows after those two assassins.
Syrif stayed on her knees, staring blankly, until self-consciousness returned and she realized how weird she must look. She quickly stood and hurried off, not even stopping until she reached her small apartment. Opening the bag with a thundering heart, her hands came across a simple tome, leather bound with little sigils carved along the front. She couldn’t find the time to cry as fierce curiosity got the better of her, she recognized this book, she’d seen it a thousand times.
‘You’ll find me, Miss Sunblade..’
Sitting down, Syrif took a deep breath...and began to read.
