#wyelow

[sinsofaconfessor]

The plan

“ Daddy!” There, a red-headed girl sprinted across the expanse of a stone hall. Shadows had billowed up into the path of a home designed of tiny hands grasped at the shadows form seeking to hug the writhing mass of shadows, but found no purchase once the form had coalesced. Corporeal in appearance only. Syred stood there, adorning a violet silk shirt and pants, spying Amarah once his figure had formed. “ Spawnling what are you doing up? I’m certain it’s past your bedtime.” “ Silly said we could!  We were good and he said so.” She nodded, pointing a tiny digit at a single doorway in the hall. Syred turned to look back at the door, then back to Amarah. “ I see... you -and- Ari have been behaving?” Quick insistent shakes of her head, causing red curls to sway. “ Uhuh. Why are you ghost Dad? “ Syreds azure sight turned to lock on Amarah. “ I’m still doing business, Amarah. I can’t come home yet.” “ That’s too much business!” She insisted, frowning at her. “Come home.” Amarahs stare showed worry, trepidation. “ Soon, Amarah. It’s very important business.” “ Promise?” Her words held an upward incline, eyes wide. She’d gone into puppy-dog defcon 4. Deliberately looking as downtrodden as possible. Fuck, this con artist right here. Syred had a thing with promises, Amarah knew it.” A slow exhale escaped him before he nodded. “ I promise I will return the very instant my important business is done.”

“ Okay...” Amarah turned to step away, racing back to an unattended coloring book. Syred turned to head into a solitary bedroom, almost dusty from lack of use. Inside, sat Silitharius sitting along the floor, legs crossed, runes glowing over his flesh in an ornate green and violet glow. The elf had taken some time to himself it seemed, all the while seated at the foot of the bed like a guard dog.

True to the analogy, in the bed lay what he guarded, Ari settled on the mattress with a coloring book settled next to the unconscious form that was now known as Ceri. Ari turned her gaze up to Syred for a moment, frowning at him, her small facial features down-turned into a scowl before she returned to coloring on the bed.

Good. Hatred would benefit her in later years Syred explained in his own thoughts, dismissing her Ire to spare a glance at Ceri, and then to Silitharius. “ A word?” Silitharius nodded, rising from the ground and his meditation, kilt dusting the stone ground as he padded barefoot across the room to follow Syred. Both wandered down the halls, finding a decorative table selected by Syred as was much of the home. The building held a number of aesthetics of an old manor, stone walls and flooring, Elven furnishings and paintings supplemented with a number of magical enchantments to sustain the building, a few specters bound to anchors for maintaining candles. Syred and Silitharius settled to talk in private.

Syred told Silitharius of his plan in its entirety, every detail, every contingency. The end of Syreds words had Silitharius frowning, deeply. “ I do not like it.” “ Nor do I, but the risk and collateral damage is reduced is it not?” “ No, it’s transformed into mental damage. They won’t understand this, the same way they didn’t understand before.” “ Should I risk the physical?...put them in more mortal danger? This plan works.” “ This plan gets you killed.” Syred slammed his hand on the table. “ I MADE A DEAL.” The yelling echoed through the stone. a moment passed before his voice became a hissed whisper. “ I don’t want to do -any- of this. But I do not break my deals.I -hate- this..All of this, but I can’t go back to the way we lived. I won’t lie to myself and hope for something like that.”

Silitharius’ expression seemed calm, knowing. “ You lie to yourself everyday when you say this is only about the promises you made to her.” “ Fuck you.” Syred sneered.The words almost comically cut short by Silitharius’ next words. “ How many times have we stepped across the border and pain of death?...How many times has that world spat us back out? We are too sour for the other side.” He teased. “Is this, the Syred I’ve met? Just one plan with no backups..No plan B, no plan C. No ace in the hole?”

“ Plan B are a herd of children scared of their own mortality to think two feet in front of their face. Plan C needs to stay here and protect them.. And I am woefully devoid of any spare cards in this hand.” Syred seemed clearly stewing in anger. “Strider Shit, Syred.” The Sin’dorei pointed at Syred, glowing runes still thrumming idle power over his form as he kept his gaze dead in the eye. “ Find a better plan, or I’ll act independently and find them myself.”

[sinsofaconfessor]

Security

Amid the darkness in the dead of night, Arie peak, dark shadows of pine trees swaying in chilling winds, cropped by brisk white snow. Even in the dead of summer this high up, snow remained.  There, a home of wood and brick nestled at the higher part of the peak remained lit, three stories of wood and bridge, designed in more human theme than elf. Syred stood alone amid the snow, levitating through magic, words mulled in his mind over and over. “ I Hate it here.” He knew she meant something else, but he also knew that the spawnlings were stifled, and likely to become more and more restless without given more space. If anything, this was for them. A high setting to prevent any archery from having advantage, arrows would have to be shot upward and lose momentum to gravity, check. Dense woods for consistent cover, Pine trees for lack of a vantage inside them? Check. Snow for ease of audible and visual tracking, hard to hide in with the known assassins colors? Absolutely. Wolves howled in the night, causing the pale figures ears to quirk, thoughtful. He’d prepared for this for some time, a quick raid of his storage from a burned shop in Stormwind, a hidden vault and he’d been prepared. Shadows billowed around the snow, pure white coated in deep blackness. Tendrils breaking fresh powder as they’d begun drawing runes, etching them into the dirt beneath the snow, against rock, tree bark. Glowing runes with detailed inner workings, traps of magic. Arrows, they used Arrows and portals. They always worked in groups. They feared little he remembered, recalling the fight. They improvise and use other things, they’d used his candles against him, which means they had to never get another clear shot again. More shadowy decoys? No, they’d confuse the spawnlings and have them run into traps. The witnesses likely knew not to fire on the decoys any longer with how much he’d used them to distract them prior. Syreds thoughts ran through contingency after contingency, Plan A, through Z. Every tree present within several hundred yards became marked with Runes, all designed in new ways. Woods outside his home would become certain death for people above 4 feet tall. The ground was littered in Armor, dark, jagged and pointy. Cursed metal with new runes crafted on the inside. Magic primed to Animate the Armor when other trap runes were stepped on, turning the cursed metal into an automated murder machine powered by fel and arcane. Six sets of Armor designed and crafted to make any Archmage of Kirin Tor or anyone well studied proud. Short of Actual Golems, animated cursed armor lusting for blood was clearly a terrifying adversary. These were humans, Men, fragile in frame and yet they had stolen some of his inventions, his death charms. Gaining a Killing blow on any of them would be hard... unless.. No, A Mass Dispel stored in a rune would disable the other traps.

Tendrils spawned and dissipated, magic moving across the span of several hundred yards at the males whim, carving the runes he’d brought to thought,  some runes crafted Portals, small traps that would suck up one poor victim and drop them into a distant desert. Divide and conquer, with fewer assassins, one could be pinned down, the charm removed from them and -then- slain. A mask..Slowly he’d levitated himself up to a hill, guiding magic tendrils to carve long lines and borders, a circle of runes around the house, masking it’s presence to those outside its influence, making this house appear to be little more than a small mountaintop of no true regard. An old protection, but still quite reliable.

The howl of wolves grew louder, the elf turned to look over his shoulder to find a pack of four very large, black furred wolves staring him down, watching him in the dead of night. Syreds hands fell behind his back, watching, waiting as the four began to circle him.When they closed in, shadows closed around the whole group. When it was over, one wolf lay dead in the snow, shadowy tendrils had broken its neck, the other three found magic weaved through their minds, their world, their perception altered. Their knowledge and understanding changed and altered. They knew only now Syred led their pack, that his home was theirs, that these woods were theirs to roam and protect and any unknown were to be hunted and slaughtered.

A minor touch...a personal one. Syred wouldn’t mind feeding three extra mouths, especially when it meant three extra pairs of eyes. Eyes that may not be suspected. They had spies? They wanted to play this game, Syred would -not- live in Squalor ( Or what he called squalor) For the sake of hiding.

The wolves wandered around the house, catching its scent, the woods around and back into the night in search of food, one less in their pack, but with four new additions.

Syred turned back to the unused home, unused aside from the 7 rooms inside the basement he’d fashioned for a hidden home.  To most, Seven rooms may seemed extravagant. To Syred who had moved from 40 rooms, to 20, and now to 7? It was an outrageous downgrade. Slowly he approached the front door, knocking on the wood. An Elderly man answered the door. “ Oh, hello stranger! Me and my wife were just about to go to bed...Would you mind coming back tommorow?” A Dimissive wave from the pale males hand dispelled the shadowy magic, the Elderly man and his wife faded, dispelled from their life. Shadowy tendrils finding the runes on the Ceiling and drawing the magic from them, preventing them from returning for now. He’d made one walk through, looking over an unused childrens bedroom, two larger beds for two growing girls, toy chests, lights powered by magic slowly activated with Syreds entry. An upstairs hallway leading to a fairly empty study, master bedroom,dressers, clothes, supplies all designed for when the threat had been removed. He’d been planning for when they were all safe for some time, but hadn’t considered mortals needs for simple things, sunlight, open spaces. Perhaps he was just a little out of touch, though he’d never admit it. A bathroom with plumbing fuelled by magic for hot water and other comforts that Syred normally refused to do without.He’d found himself at the end of his inspection of the home in the study, pulling open a drawer and procuring four small pouches, all with tiny bone charms inside along with a large gold coin with a symbol carved within. Each tied with leather strings and bound tightly to prevent anything from being removed without effort. Then... He moved downstairs, finding the locked Cellar and opening the doors. “ Amarah, Ari..come here! I’ve got a....” He stared down at the satchels. “...I have....A...Gift for you both.” How hard it was for him to say it, how much he struggled with the verbiage. He hated struggling with things, but he’d get over it eventually. This wasn’t what Ceri meant when she said she’d hated this place. This is what he told himself. This was better for the spawnlings though. He’d add more security outside later.

[sinsofaconfessor]

A wooden door slammed, an injured elf left alone in a bed, an argument heard past old wood and creaking steps. Syred turned his gaze downward. Splints? SPLINTS??? The primitive nature of the first aid stained Syreds face. Inelegant non-magical methods. Oh he was certainly inspired to move himself from the bed. An attempt that only caused pain to blossom from his broken bones. What fresh hell was this he’d thought to himself, trapped in a dusty bedsheets and contained in an old musty prison. Shadows coiled beneath the bed, bubbling up at the fringes of the frame before the sound of more steps were heard. Someone was coming. Shadows slid back under the bed, hiding within the wood. In stepped in an older woman and the older male once again. The same old man as before, sunburnt skin, broad and build frame cropped in dusty worn overalls and a white linen shirt.  His scowl was ever present as he’d watched Syred. The other woman had silvered hair, wrapped into a triple braid, green eyes and dressed in a mud caked pair of pants, similar linen shirt and and heavy boots. Her hands were gloved, set to her hips. “ So he’s awake. Get him something to drink Saul..and some bread!” The one likely called Saul grunted. “ I ain’t feedin’ this trash! He’s lucky I ain’t killin’ him! Janet do you know what this guy is!?”  The squabbling couple had seemingly barely gotten in the room before fighting once again. Syred let out a deep sigh, glancing between the two. He’d tried to speak, only to find his throat gasping out pained gasps. His unbroken arm moved, bringing his hand to his throat.

It was evident the hunter that had been sent after him had done a -lot- of damage. He resigned to not speaking, watching the elder couple eyeball him. Janet turned to Saul. Giving him a stare. It was a -look- that Syred recognized, one that caused him to grin for a moment. Saul was in troouuuuuble. There was a momentary silence before Saul grunted, throwing his hands up into the air. There was loud protest and some colorful language before a grumbling old farmer found the door and headed down the steps.

Janet shook her head. “ All of ya are impossible.” She gestured to Syred. “ Don’t worry. He don’t hate you because you’re an elf or nothin’.. He don’t that business y’been runnin’ in the city.”

The fact that people in westfall even -knew- about his store was...Well Surprising. He’d stayed reserved, even swallowing now was extremely pained. He’d watched Janet carefully. Shadows began to creep through the walls of the room, keeping just out of view of the woman as he willed the shadows behind her.

Janet watched Syred. “ Just so you know, all of you special little stormwind snowflakes are making it harder and harder to live out here. Does stormwind care if slavers have been extorting people in westfall?  The answer is no. Still, that’s no reason for him to be rude.” Shadowy tendrils slithered through the air, looming closer to the back of Janets skull inches from contact. “ My husbands more upset that the Wyelows vanished when they couldn’t come up with the money. They were real close and it hit him hard. Try not to take it personally.” The shadows evaporated, melting from the walls and hiding once again. Syreds stare watched Janet, outright stunned.

“ Well.... I need you to stay in that bed. We’ll get you on the mend. Behave.” She pointed at Syred, commanding him. “ Saul will getcha somethin’.” Speechless. Absolutely speechless.

[sinsofaconfessor]

Halfhill, a peaceful little village. deep within an Inn slept two small children, and one shadow on the wall. Candles lit stretched the figures form as it watched over the two girls, seated atop the shadow cast by a table nearby with its arms crossed. The small imp-like shadow remained on guard, sleepless and wracked with alarm and worry. His eyes hunted the shadows outside, watching even when passerby deliveries of vegetables and the odd quester in the night. Morning came, and the imp emerged from the wall, transforming into a figure of a human woodsman he’d adopted to disguise his presence. He’d headed downstairs to steal fruits and vegetables from the market. An hour later, Xyn’rael had pocketed a number of items...He’d suspected unnoticed. The shops all knew who the food was for and had turned blind eyes for a number of reasons. Before he returned, his steps leading him back to the inn, a pearly white color caught his eye. There, at the end of the road and heading into town was a robed figure, a hint of fel green eyes peeking below the cowl. The fabric looked remarkably....No. Exactly like some old attire Syred had worn from his retired days as a confessor. Xyn’rael quietly whispered as he turned and began power walking to the Inn. “ Nope...Nope...Thousand times fuckin’ nope.” The door to the inn slammed open, Xyn’raels form turned to move to the bed. For an instant, he wanted to scoop the two up and jostle them. He re-thought it as he watched them sleep. There, Ari and Amarah clung to one another under the covers. “Fffuuuck.” He hissed to himself. Slowly, Xyn’rael gently nudged at Ari, then Amarah. He stared quietly at Amarah, unable to get the image of her face down in the dirt. “ C’mon girls..We’ve got to leave...We’ve got bad news following us...and I ain’t gonna take any fuckin’ chance...C’mon there’s a portal close by...” He sighed, where could they go? What sanctuary did they have? who on earth could they trust. No Syred, no Silitharius,no Ceri. He couldn’t do this on his own. “ Xyn...I’m hunnnngrryyyy..”

[personalchaos119]

"..I am.. the Wanderer, the Bard, the Assassin, the Agent, the.. hero.  The.. villain.  Whom are you, Ceri Wyelow?  Siren?  Bartender?  ..what is your life, in eleven words?"

Some days I find myself surprised by the innocence of others, and even.. gladdened by it.  Never before has the word 'sorry' left these scarred lips so often in such a short amount of time, except for the day that my heart was murdered right before my eyes.