Call of the Wolf

[Syrra Coventry]

Shades of the Past...And Present

Standing before the massive edifice of the city, she gazed about the intricate gold inlay runes that adorned the archway, framing the great stone statue. Though the entrance was rather dim, the deep red cobblestone and sheer crimson veils that marked the entrance to Silvermoon City were still warmly inviting, even to Helyxia Coventry's darkened and chilled heart. All through her youth, she never gave the shadowed, yet inviting gateway a second thought, taking for granted all the care and craftsmanship that went into its construction. Now, she stares at the commingling of decorations, stone, and metalwork as if she'd never been to the wondrous city before.

She slowly padded forward, wincing at every creak and clink of her armor as it broke into the remnants of her past that swirled through her mind. Once, this was merely a merchant's gateway through the grand walls of Silvermoon. Now, however, it served as the master path. The old gates lie in ruin just to the west; the Dead Scar licking at its collapsed stone, oak, and ironwork. Helyxia emerged at last at the main avenue of the city, flanked by red robed and armored guards standing at attention behind ornately carved grand tower shields; their pole arms snapped squarely at their sides. They neither flinched, nor did their gazes waver. Slowly, their eyes survey all in their field of view, then come squarely center again. If not for their eyes keeping watch on all about them, she'd have sworn they were very well-crafted statues.

The familiar smell of exotic baked goods and spirits wafted to her from the doorway to her left. The purple-silk draped frame with deep violet carpeting within almost beckoned to her, but she couldn't bring herself to moved towards it. The small inn and spirits house was where her mother once served, slaved, laughed, and played all hours of the day and night. She kept the riff-raff out and the good-natured folk knew it was the place to go for the best food in town.

It's where she first met Harrol and his father when they came to the city to strike up a trade agreement for spirits as well as new pastries and meats. It's where she first gave the small, even for a dwarf, boy his first ear tweak. Helyxia smiled as she thought about their first meeting; how he at first slapped at empty air thinking the twinge was simply a gnat. He started to whip his head around to catch what the cause was, and there she sat on the back of a nearby chair, leaning forward and balancing herself precariously as she stretched to snap his ear once more.

Helyxia shook herself back to the present, realizing she had come to a full stop on the threshold of the inn. The smells that now struck her full force seemed...almost too familiar. Quickly, she arched an eyebrow, intrigued at how the aroma brought more and more memories of her mother's inn up from the abyss of her lost life. Almost too familiar, like the smell of a well-worn blanket that one keeps their life through, the smell of a particular pastry came to her nose... Entranced, she was inexorably drawn into the main tavern area, then up the spiral staircase to the cooking area inset to one side of the landing half-way up to the rooms.

"Damn it!" came the sharp and shrill voice, like a knife in both the memories and the heart of Helyxia Coventry's broken life. "I've told them a dozen times that the venison needs to be F R E S H! Like...they need to strip it outside! It just doesn't survive a journey well enough for this. ...and these berries just will not do..." came more of the ranting from the cooking area.

She dared not hope. Slowly, cautiously, she removed her outer armor with as little commotion as she could muster, hoping to hide the sounds among the normal din of the daytime revelers in the far corner amid the banquet tables and kegs. She gently laid the battle scarred pieces on landing, noting that her under-padding, which often doubled as work wear, sorely needed replacement. At the very least, perhaps it should be patched in some of the more risque locations that are now completely worn through. She almost laughed to herself, then stifled it and quietly made her way to the ornate spiral staircase.

"Faelas! Where's the butter I asked for?!" came another shrill cry. Twinges of memory tugged at the deeper recesses of Helyxia's mind. She could almost hear the sing-song amid the feigned anger and shrillness. There was a nearly familiar laughter underpinning the whole of the ranting that now assailed her ears.

"I can't believe that Auntie Jetta let this place get in such a mess in mom's absence! I can't find anything in this place!" A large cast iron frying pan came flying out of the doorway, nearly landing on the barmaid's head below.

As suddenly as the shrieks had come from the kitchen, they stopped. Helyxia noted a slight flutter of the rich purple curtains that lined the entry to the cooking area, then that too ceased. She stopped. One foot on the step above the other, she on the tips of her toes in order to approach as quietly as she could.

A deep, freezing numbness suddenly shot up Helyxia's spine leaving her completely motionless. What color she had in her skin seemed to suddenly drain from her as she found herself unable to move. The grip she tentatively held on her sword loosened beyond her control; the frostlight blade falling quietly on the thickly carpeted stairs. Every nerve and muscle in her body seemed to be on fire, refusing to respond to any of her commands.

"Helyxia? Sister? Is it really you??" the shadowed and shaky whisper pleaded, the hot breath of the younger girl came on the back of her neck and ear as a familiar summer breeze....

She dared not believe the voice a familiar one, but as it spoke to her, she grew more sure and more full of dread with every passing moment. Helyxia stared straight ahead, her every muscle refusing to answer her commands to look behind her. Her whole body felt as if a burning cold were tearing through every nerve as she forced out the one word racing through her mind and throwing the dust of her distant memories into the vortex of her screaming consciousness...

"S-S-S-Syrra..." the word fell on a staccato of hushed air that leaked rather than issued from her lips. "I thought...but..." Helyxia at last dropped to her knees on the stairs, her icy fingers digging deeply into the carpeting that padded the stairs. Her whole body convulsed as she was finally broken; burying her face into the carpet, she began to sob relentlessly.

"Hely...! No! I'm okay! Look at me!" the young lady, clad in her black traveling leathers, pleaded while stifling laughter. Her voice was almost a sing-song of words; not a hint of anger or remorse rang in their intonations. Even in the look of worry on the woman's face, there was an underlying smile. Her dusky smooth complexion framed by her dusky blonde hair partially pulled back in a pony tail. She sported a pair of dagger tattoos, one over each eye in almost a mimic of their Night Elf cousins' colorings. Helyxia hadn't been the only one in the family that wished the two peoples could be reunited in some fashion, though in these times, such thoughts were kept in hushed whispers, back rooms, and cellars.

She gently rested both of her hands on Helyxia's shoulders, slightly tugging back and forth, trying to comfort her. She leaned forward once more to whisper in her ear, "I love you, sis...please stop and look at me...?" At last, her sobbing waned into a slight hitch in her breathing every few seconds as she knelt there on the stairs, motionless except a periodic shudder from her very core.

Helyxia slowly lifted her head and with every ounce of her strength, carefully turned to sit on the stair, all the will having left her legs to stand. She once again sat motionless, afraid to even take in a breath for fear that it would break the vision before her. The two women remained motionless for what seemed hours before the elder sister broke the silence.

"How...what...?" was all that Helyxia could muster, still in utter disbelief of the sight before her. She took in every detail of the younger woman; her hair, her eyes, her tattoos. 'Her tattoos...' she thought to herself. That's how she knew she was really in the presence of her younger sister. She had gone with her sister to the "body artist" for moral support, as she'd had a long night of arguing with their mother over what she was about to do.

Syrra knelt down on the stair before Helyxia, balancing herself with her hands as she at last spoke again. "Yes...it was really me there that day," she began, lowering her voice as if to hide it in the white noise of the tavern below them. "When the wall came down, I ran and hid as best I could so no one would find me. It was then I found my true calling...when I was able to remain motionless and nearly invisible to everything around me. When those creatures..." she paused, her eyes welling at the memory. "When I saw you among them, oblivious to those you were hurting, I knew what had happened."

"My darling sister...Hely...I forgave you before it even happened. I knew it wasn't you in there, helping to cause all the destruction and death. Not you..." she trailed off, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I and some friends escaped the city and took up arms against that monster's minions. I had hoped that I would find you again and see a way to rescue you, but I never did. I then simply prayed that you would somehow find peace when the madness was done."

Helyxia bowed her head, searching for anything she could say that would tell her sister just how sorry for everything she was. "I...I..." she began to sob again, flashing back with the greatest of vividness she'd yet had to the day of the invasion of Silvermoon City. The words caught in her throat, screaming to be let out but being choked back by shame.

"No one blames you!" Syrra grabbed her sister's shoulders tightly, shaking her lightly to bring her attention to the present. "Look at me, honey! It's okay!"

Helyxia at last looked up and into her sister's sparkling blue-green eyes, at last seeing the truth of her words. Syrra leaned forward, gently at first, but then more tightly wrapping her arms around her older sister. She pulled her in tight, as if to let go would be to lose herself forever. Helyxia's whole body trembled, the tears flowing freely from her dead grey eyes. "I'm so sorry," she repeated in Syrra's ear as she clung to her in a desperate grasp to hold on to her own sanity. She had not known release of all the pain and torment of these past years...of what she'd done under the Madman's control, until now...until she was in the arms of her most beloved sister.

The women wrapped themselves around each other, oblivious to the small crowd gathered at the top and bottom of the staircase. Each of them finally filling up a hole that had been rent in the both of them that day...

"Oh my," came the deep, yet supple tones of a large elf clad in studded black leather armor at the top of the stairs. "This cannot be... Both of you, still alive?!"

The two women looked up at last, finally realizing the size of the crowd that had gathered about them. Helyxia, still unable to draw her gaze away from her younger sister, continued to sit in silence. Syrra, always the livelier of the two, began looking around for the almost too familiar voice she had heard just a moment before.

“My eyes do not deceive me, it seems,” came the soft yet firm tone again from the group at the top landing. “Syrra…?”

The young elf slowly stood, still holding Helyxia’s hands in hers as she peered more closely at the group above. She’d just had the first contact with her sister in these many years since before the war came to Quel’Thalas and she was not about to let go lightly now. The myriad of colors in the crowd before her were almost a blur, save for one that stood out in a familiar fashion. She knew the studded black leather legging that she could just make out from her position…she knew it almost too well. She even, at last, recognized her own branding on the cuff of the chain-clad leather boot that pressed ahead of the throng of people.

“Don’t you all have other people’s business to nose in on?!” she yelled at the group, trying to disperse them to get a better look at the man who’d been speaking from amid the crowd. Her voice was filled more with a frustration laced with anxiousness than actual anger. Syrra did not anger easily or often. She was more apt to laugh at something that would outrage another. It’s part of how she managed to survive where others often perished these past few years.

From the moment she had arisen, she felt something on the air. Not so much something ominous as life-altering. For the better, she had not known. Yet even that ill-prepared her for what her eyes beheld at that moment. She felt Helyxia’s hands tense up as the words came once more from the man on the landing. Helyxia’s gaze once again brought low and her shuddering could be seen as well as felt coming from her entire being as she sat there with her back to him.

“I’d not dared hope for your survival that day… From then until now, I kept myself with the Farstriders in the field, almost afraid to come to the city for fear of what I’d find to no longer be,” came the words from the elf-man in an almost staccato of nervous tension. “And is that whom I think it is, seated before you?”

Syrra’s astonished gaze slowly transformed into a look of utter glee, as if seeing the sun for the first time and truly understanding what that meant. “Kaynen!” she shouted as she let loose of Helyxia’s hands and bounded up the stairs to throw herself into his arms. “By all that’s holy, and by a lot that’s not!” She hugged him so tightly that he thought she might break ribs with her fierce grip…hers and his own. Every emotion from unadulterated anger to unbounded excitement coursed through her in those few moments. At once, she leaned back, scowled, and slapped him sharply across the face, glaring at him as if he’d just slain her cat. Just as quickly, she giggled like a schoolgirl on her first crush, hugging him tightly again.

He slowly pulled her arms from around her neck, backing up a bit as hid did, held her hands in his, and looked her up and down. “I see the years and the wars have left you none the worse for wear, young Syrra Coventry,” the words almost prancing off his tongue as a proud father on his daughter’s wedding day. “Sure, you seem a bit more weathered, but you are also far more lovely than the last time I saw you.”

“And you, my dear Kaynen Coventry,” she chimed back at him, the sing-song returned to her voice as she let the words dance from her lips as if singing a tune meant for no one but them.

He let go of her at that, the smile slowly leaving his face as the light slowly drained from his presence. “Kaynen Coventry is no more, dear sister,” the words fell from him as if they were not his own, but implanted by some darkness within.

“…but…” she stuttered back at him, now feeling the gentle touch of her sisters hands on her shoulders once more. Helyxia had come out of her shock and was listening to their banter, but felt there was something amiss as her brother’s tone began to change. ‘My brother…’ she thought to herself. ‘To find my sister is heaven…to find my brother alive as well must mean something is at work here beyond simple chance.’ Her timing and senses seemed all too acute, as she’d reached her sister just as the words came full force from their brother.

“That horrific day, I laid to rest my family.” His voice took on a dark undertone of desolation as he spoke. “As I returned from my trades in Stromgarde, I saw the destruction that had taken place throughout northern Lordaeron and even our own Eversong. I was not prepared for what greeted me that day when I arrived at the fallen gates of our home.”

Syrra smiled at him as she whispered, “it’s okay…we are still here.” She nodded to him, but felt Helyxia’s hands lose their grip on her. She looked over her shoulder to find her sister’s gaze locked onto their brother’s face, as if she were searching for…something…

Kaynen shook his head, rattling the memories back to their darkened corners. “At any rate… After that day, I went to the Farstriders and bade them take me in and teach me their ways. I needed a distraction.” He began to shake his head slightly. “No, not so much a distraction as a new course. I wanted to learn the ways of the rangers and the masters of beasts. I had evil creatures to track. I had…” He let the last thought trail off, afraid to speak the words.

“You had to what…??” Syrra pleaded with him, eager to hear what he was hiding from them. He brought his eyes, for the first time, to level onto their sister, Helyxia. When he did so, Syrra was suddenly afraid of the answer.

“I had to track down and bring to rest a creature of the Scourge I once called my sister.” The words fell out as an acorn falls from a tree in the heavy mists. The words seemed to barely reach them, though said almost too clearly for their present location. His stare at Helyxia slowly contorted into an agonizing plea of their own. ‘Why?!’ His searing gaze slowly faded as he looked back at the younger woman, “I felt it only right that when I buried my family…or what was left of them…that I also bury the name. I am now known as Kaynen Duskflame.” He let his eyes travel back to Helyxia as if to burn all of the pent up anger and despair of the last seven years into her very soul.

Syrra suddenly grabbed him by the lapels of his leather overcoat. “Stop it! Stop it now, Kaynen!” She was begging as much as yelling at this point; half-pleading with him to calm himself before he said something irreparable. “Look at her…can’t you see how much pain she must be going through? Yes…you buried your family. I was witness to the deaths. We feel the pain of the loss… Imagine what she feels, brother.” She looked into his eyes, appealing to the brother she knew was still in that hardened and forlorn exterior.

“Kayn…come on…” she pleaded with him to return to the present once more. She firmly held his face in her hands, her nose inches from his as she called to him again. “Do you understand what happened at all, or have you spent too much time in seclusion with those rangers?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, now fully back from his dulling memories. “She killed them!” he growled at last, causing Syrra to slowly let go of his face and frown a bit herself.

“You have to understand! It wasn’t her… You were gone the day the news came of what had happened to her at Darrowshire. You just had to go get your fancy exotic woods from the southern forests.” The words came more biting than she had planned, or even thought she felt. ‘You left me ALONE!’ her thoughts screamed at him, ringing more loudly in her mind than the words she spoke came to her ears.

“What do you mean ‘what happened to her at Darrowshire’? You mean how she turned traitor to her own people…her family?!” he shot at her accusingly. He could feel his pulse race as his hands slipped unconsciously towards the daggers sheathed at his sides. At that, Syrra grabbed both of his upper arms and pushed him backwards, nearly causing him to stumble into the kitchen. As she continued to press him back, his resistance to her guidance waned and she spun him around to lead him from behind into her quarters in the back of the kitchen.

The door swung wide to reveal a suite of rooms that Jetta had contracted to be built to Syrra’s specifications. The main room opened to a grand balcony overlooking the main boulevard of present Silvermoon, though when it was constructed it was merely the main trade thoroughfare. From here, she had spent hours watching the traders set up temporary kiosks to sell their wares, watched the various children try to pilfer an apple here or a candy there. She had even seen the shadier trade folk and those who would see their money parted from them without their notice. She enjoyed watching life transpire below her balcony. It allowed her to contemplate her place in the world and what she wanted to do with her time in it. She enjoyed such things to no end.

Now, the room was a bit more drab than it used to be. In those days, it had been draped in reds and golds with ornate miniature statuary and vibrant paintings decorating the lush red velvet and scintillating gold foil covered walls. Now, the walls were covered in a dark gray woven cloth with deep violet sheer silk adornments. Where there were once opulent and overstuffed brightly colored pillows all about the great room, now only subdued gray and violet pillows surround a massive area rug depicting an old Kaldorei map with their ancient runic symbols lining the edging.

Syrra, with one last grunt of effort, shoved her brother down onto the mass of pillows on the floor. “Again you shoot barbs from your lips without hearing all that has transpired. You were not here during those days… I was. I saw what happened; you did not. Yet still you believe what others tell you over your own sister…ME!” she scolded him. He knew that when such a fire was alight in her, it was best to let her speak it all without interruption. To do otherwise often invited her scorn, which was something he never wanted to endure. He loved her too much to allow such a thing to happen.

Helyxia stood in the doorway, leaning against its frame. She knew that there was nothing she could say at that point to appease her brother’s ire, though she wished it weren’t so. Silently, she watched her sister and brother argue the circumstances. She felt the numbness of this reality wash over her; the feeling as if she were slowly sinking to the bottom of the sea. Everything but what was directly in front of her went dim…black. She no longer heard the ruckus in the kitchen behind her or the loud, boisterous patrons enjoying the tavern beyond. The only sound was the muffled dialogue unfolding before her.

She felt as she did moments after the blade had pierced her heart seven years ago…

“Has no one bothered to tell you the circumstances of her return to Silvermoon on the day that madman sought to take everything from us?” Syrra shot at Kaynen. “Has no one spoken of how she looked that day?” She was already growing impatient, knowing in advance what the answer would be. “No…no one has. You would not speak such venom about Hely if they had…” She trailed off, waiting for something, anything, in the way of remorse in his tone or look.

“I…” he resigned at last. “No…I had not thought such a question necessary. They said they clearly saw her in that blackened armor, wielding her own weapon against friends and family alike. That there was no remorse in her eyes for the acts she performed that day,” he hung his head at that, knowing that whatever was to come next was likely worse than what he had already thought were the actions of that day.

Syrra knelt down in front of her brother, grasped his shoulders firmly in her hands, and looked him squarely in the eyes, searching them to make sure that he could take in what she had to say next; to make sure that the words struck home and would stay with him. “The day of the fall of Silvermoon, of our family…she was already dead, Kaynen.” She said the words slowly, carefully, though she knew how hollow they sounded even as she spoke them.

“W…What?” he asked, incredulously. He thought that she was speaking in a riddle to him, rather than stating things in a matter-of-fact fashion.

“Listen to me, brother,” she drew in a deep breath, stared unblinking into his eyes, and spoke the words she’d dreaded saying out loud. “Helyxia died at the Battle of Darrowshire, weeks before the betrayal of Dar’Khan and the Fall of Silvermoon.” She paused a moment before continuing. “That monster, Arthas, brought her back from that end to use against us…to use against her own people. He sought not to just destroy our city and our bodies; he wanted to destroy our souls…our spirits…as well.”

Syrra paused again to wait for some kind of a response from her brother. She saw him slowly turn his gaze to Helyxia in the doorway. She had fallen to her knees once more, trembling, her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably as she heard her sister relate the story to him. Until now, the full impact of what had been done to her…to them…had not reached her completely. He looked back to Syrra, tears welling in his eyes as it also began to reach beyond the hatred he had held on to these past few years.

“You mean she’s a…” He could not bring himself to utter those last two words. He had heard about them but had not seen one since he took to living with the Farstriders and training in the ways of The Hunt.

Syrra nodded to him, slowly; deliberately. She said the words with a strange warmth not usually associated with them, but she wanted her brother to know more…much more. “Yes, she is a Death Knight.”

Kaynen tensed up at the utterance of those words, shook her eased grip from his shoulders, and slowly stood to approach Helyxia. As he neared her, Syrra came up behind him and put her hands on his waist, to steady herself as much as to help ease the quickly growing tension. “If she is one of these creatures, why is she here now? Why has she been allowed back into our city at all?!” He almost bellowed that last, shocking himself as much as the others. All noise within the kitchen, and even in the tavern area beyond had ceased. He could hear the faint sizzling of the steaks on the grilling stove in the corner, his own breathing, and Helyxia’s sobs. All other action had ceased within the inn. It was only now that he realized just how loud he had been in his protestation of his older sister’s presence.

Syrra grabbed his waist more firmly and pulled herself up on her toes to whisper to him, “do you think they would have let her in the city if she were a danger to anyone here? Really??” The tension slowly eased from his muscles.

He crouched down to Helyxia, put a hand out, and lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes as he spoke. “How could you be what you are and be here…sister…” the last word came as if he were spitting poisoned wine out on the floor. “How is it you even remember us? I have heard of your kind and it is said that you retain nothing of who you were before the change.”

Helyxia grabbed the door frame with both hands and pulled herself up, still unsteady from the events this day…from the discovery of her sister and one of her brothers still alive. “I have much to tell you, little brother,” she said flatly as she grabbed him by the hand and lead him back to the cushions in the center of the room.

She sat down then urged him to do the same. He sat down cautiously, facing her fully.

“We call ourselves ‘Knights of the Ebon Blade’,” she began…

[Velena Theron]

Very nice, keep it up!

[romant]

creative writing short story?

[Reynolds]

I love your work! Keep it up!

[Mistress Elizabeth]

creative writing short story?

Yes, you should follow the advice of your signature, and notice you are in the role playing forums.

[Syrra Coventry]

Shattered Memories

Helyxia related her experiences after her fall at Darrowshire. She spoke of how all was black and without form or direction, save a distant and bright light on the horizon. She described the sounds of music and the familiar smells of pastries and meats as well as the aromatic meads and ales of her past that wafted to her from that distant point. She told of how, as she began her journey to that light, something pulled her back; something dark and terrifying.

It was then that Helyxia’s sobbing had been renewed as she tried to describe the feeling of being trapped within her own mind, unable to control her actions. She was left to watch in abject horror as her body committed atrocities that can never be forgotten. She had neither the will nor power to stop the monster that was left in control of her form, all the while silently screaming for the nightmare to end. She related to them that it was among the other Death Knights of the Scourge that she found the strength to at last fight back, as they all did, against their master, ultimately freeing them from his control.

Kaynen had listened to the story with an almost defiant look about him. He appeared to believe none of the words she spoke, instead seeming to believe his own twisted version of the events. When she had finished retelling the events that lead her back to Silvermoon and the Wayfarer’s Rest, Kaynen had hung his head a moment. He slowly looked back up, an almost maniacal grin on his face.

“You expect me to believe that?!” he roared at her, standing and reaching for his blades. “You sit there, telling me all these fantastic tales, and expect me to believe that you killed your own parents; OUR parents… your bother; OUR brother! You want to pretend you tried to murder your own sister who sits in this very room with us now, but that it ‘wasn’t really you’?! What kind of fool do you take me for?!”

Helyxia stumbled back, trying to maintain her distance from the ever more vicious verbal assaults from her younger brother. She had desperately looked around her for anything she could hold between them to halt his advances.

Syrra, at last, jumped in front of him, mustering her strength to push him back on his heels.

“Kayn! Stop this right now! This is MY home, not yours! You will NOT do this to her, or me, in my own home!” she had a look of anger in her eyes that he had never seen before and it instantly quenched the rage in him.

“Syrra…? What has happened to you? You defend her actions? You defend what she is?” He sounded almost defeated.

“Brother… Can you not see the pain in her eyes? Can you not sense the truth of it all? Have you spent so much time in seclusion these past years, building up your hatred for what happened, that the truth no longer matters to you?” she uttered, begging with him.

“I cannot forgive the one that has torn our family apart, Syrra. I just cannot do that,” he replied at last. She was sure that the truth would set his direction anew, but it seemed to only incense him and bolster his ultimate resolve.

“Kaynen,” she said after some deliberation and looking at the two of them; he standing before her and ready to fight and she in the corner almost shivering as she cowered in fear of his actions. She sighed heavily and continued, “The three of us, plus Aunt Jetta, are all that is left of our family. As I see it, you are the one tearing the family apart. Here we are, the first time any of us have been together on over five years, and you insist on taking her life right in front of me, in my home.” She scowled at him with a look he had never seen in her eyes before. There was something at once sad and very menacing in that glare she had leveled at him.

“Sis…I…” he started, and she shoved him slightly backwards, leaning into him.

“No. You are not to call me that ever again,” the fury was welling up inside her. Something was stirring in her causing her to feel almost ill from her angered thoughts.

“But…” he started, completely taken aback by her sudden rage.

“Until the day you can find in your heart forgiveness for what happened during the invasion, you are dead to me! DEAD! Do you understand?” she bellowed at him, her eyes almost flaring.

Kaynen swore he saw her eyes radiate an odd reddish-orange glint instead of their normal blue-green hue. In that moment, he sensed something below the surface of her rage. It was something that made him truly afraid of his little sister for the first time in their lives.

Kaynen gave Helyxia one more passing stare, silently accusing her of all the wrongs that had transpired not only the day of the Scourge Invasion, but the wedge now between he and his little sister. He gave one more pleading look to Syrra before reluctantly leaving her chambers. As he did so, he drew his blade and pointed the sharpened tip towards Helyxia.

“The next time we meet, only one of us walks away, Sister.” He spat out the word as if trying to rid himself of a foul taste.

“Get out, NOW!” Syrra screamed at his back, her fists clenched as she seethed in anger at her brother’s parting words.

Helyxia, across the room, could feel a sudden wave of heat as her sister yelled towards the departing hunter. Forever haunted by the memories of the destruction she had wrought as an unwilling servant of the Lich King, she only felt a dire fear of her brother. There was no anger in her these days, save for one monster and his servants. She had truly hoped to mend the broken bonds with him when she first saw him the previous evening. All through the night, as she related her story, she hoped for nothing more than to ease his mind and help him understand what had happened. Instead, it seemed to only make things worse. On top of that, now Syrra was showing signs that all was not as it used to be with her, in spirit or in body. Something had changed, was changing, within her. Something within Syrra scared Helyxia as much as her brother’s hateful outbursts.

Once the door was closed to the outer chambers and inn kitchen, Syrra eased her stance and turned to her sister. Still curled up in the corner, clenching a pillow tightly in front of her, Helyxia looked at Syrra, finally finding the words to speak once more.

“What was that?” she asked her, a tremble in her voice.

Syrra sighed, relieved that the tension had largely left the room. Helyxia felt the cool early morning air on her skin once again. She pressed her once more.

“Syrra…honey? What happened to you just now?” she asked more firmly as she laid the pillow down and began to rise to her feet.

“Well…? I…I was mad, that’s all,” she trailed off, nearly mumbling the last part of her comment.

“No. There’s more to it than that. You can’t lie to me about these things and you know it. Have the nightmares returned after all this time?” Helyxia approached the younger woman, concern growing in her cold and desolate heart.

“Ummm…yeah, they have, actually,” she reluctantly answered her sister, not knowing what to say next. She looked about for anything to direct her sister’s attentions away from her outburst.

Helyxia wrapped her arms around Syrra and pulled her close, hugging her tightly. She put a hand to the back of her head and held her face to her shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“I wish there was something I could do to take those horrible dreams away from you. I have seen what no one else does at night, when everyone else is resting peacefully. Do you think I have forgotten all those nights I sat up trying to comfort you after one of those wretched nightmares?” Her icy breath seemed to mist and crackle as the last of the intense heat dissipated from the rage that had gripped Syrra only a few minutes before.

Syrra grabbed onto and held her sister as if to let go would mean her death. Though she was afraid to voice her fears and thoughts on her nightmares, she knew that holding them back only served to make each night worse. She leaned her face into her older sister’s neck and kissed her lightly before pulling back and sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Where do I begin?” she sighed at last, relegated to telling her all of it, this time sparing her no details.

“Just tell me what you wish…whatever lightens your heart to let out,” Helyxia answered her softly. She knelt on the floor in front of Syrra, holding her hands as they rested on her knees.

“All I see are flashes, really,” she began hesitantly.

“Of…?” Helyxia asked, prodding her to continue.

“I’m not sure, really. I see a mist-shrouded forest where the trees are almost black and twisted into horrifying shapes, but…” she paused a moment, searching for the right words to describe the feeling.

Helyxia squeezed her hands and pleaded with her eyes for her sister to look at her and work through the visions. When Syrra’s eyes locked onto hers, her whole body seemed to relax a bit more.

“I…I don’t know. I’m not scared when I see these things. I’m actually comforted. It’s like I’m wrapped in a blanket of night where nothing can touch me,” she let out a sigh as she spoke, letting her emotions flood to the surface.

“That’s curious… Have you ever seen such a place before that you can remember? Have you done a lot of traveling the past few years?” Helyxia prodded her.

Syrra thought for a moment. “Yes, I’ve done a lot of traveling…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing, “You don’t want to know…trust me.”

“Okay...I wont ask. Not now, anyway. But then…?” she asked after a pause.

“No…nothing like the visions. I’ve yet to see such a place in my life, outside of these dreams.” She began to sound desperate once again.

Helyxia squeezed her hands again, trying to calm her. She could sense something was locked away, deep in her sisters soul that was just out of reach.

“It’s alright. Like I said, hon…just talk through it. You never know what you might remember that could help,” she almost purred the words, trying to comfort her.

“Well, that’s when it gets all…flashy…” Syrra interjects, almost asking instead of simply telling her of the nightmares. “Just flashes of large beasts with nasty fangs, black claws, and blazing red eyes coming out of nowhere. Sometimes I even see blood dripping from their mouths or claws. That’s when I wake up…every time.” She finished, almost in a panic again.

Helyxia noticed the room had begun to heat once more and realized that her sister was the source of that heat. Her hands were almost too hot to touch, but they looked normal. She quickly let go and backed away from her younger sister.

“Missy? What’s happening to you?” she was pleading with Syrra, quickly growing uneasy with the sudden changes. She had chosen, though, that word very carefully knowing what reaction she would get from her sister when she uttered the word.

Syrra slowly rose from the bed and the normal blue-green tint of her eyes was quickly drowned out in a reddish flash. She clenched her fists once more as she slowly and deliberately approached her sister.

“I told you to NEVER call me that! Only father was allowed to call me that! NO ONE else!” She curled her lips back slowly and began shaking as if wracked with pain. Her eyes quickly rolled up until nothing but the whites were visible. Suddenly, she fell to the floor, unconscious.

Helyxia approached the collapsed form of her little sister and cautiously reached a hand out to her, noting that the heat emanating from her was almost unbearable. She picked her up and laid her on the bed, removing her clothing to expose her white hot flesh to the cooler surrounding air and pulling the sheets down and off the bed. She rushed to the window to open it, drew the sheer drapes closed, then rushed to the kitchen. Returning with a pitcher of glacier water, she poured it into a basin and began dabbing her skin from her forehead to her feet. She laid the back of her hand on the young woman’s forehead to test her temperature and noted that her skin had completely cooled and was now far smoother than it seemed just minutes before.

Bringing one of the reclining chairs from across the room to set at Syrra’s bedside, Helyxia sat vigil over her for two days. In that time, she barely stirred beyond a slight eye or hand twitching. While things were quiet and her sister lay unmoving, she had a chance to consider whether she should have returned to Silvermoon. She considered her brother's words carefully about it being her fault that a wedge had been driven between them and she began to feel the weight of responsibility for Syrra's present condition.

Helyxia knew that the nightmares were not her fault, but the outbursts, she told herself, certainly were her doing. She scolded herself for causing her sister to choose sides between her and her brother, though she herself had wanted to patch things between Kaynen and herself. Perhaps if he had been in town during the events leading up to the attacks, he would have seen things differently, but he had heard too much from others; he had spent too much time away, dwelling on the words of others to see any other side but that she was the ultimate cause of their family's destruction.

She knew she had to leave and never return to this place if her brother and sister were to ever repair the rift that had now been torn between them. She knew that she couldn't leave now, though. She had to stay and see to Syrra until she was well once more.

Their father had given Helyxia the totem to hold until she felt was the right time to give it to her sister. The small fetish-like object that had been found with her when she was discovered as an infant in the wreckage of a massacred caravan along the Thondroril River. She knew that it must somehow be connected with her past, so perhaps this was the time to give it to her. Perhaps the small totem held the key to her nightmares, and her veiled family history. Helyxia rushed out the door and up the stairs to her old room, long left untouched from the day she had died. She opened the bottom drawer of her bureau and reached in the back for an old, ornate cedar box. She opened it and removed the small fetish; a thin leather strap much like a hair tie with blonde hair intertwined with a pair of eagle feathers and a thick tuft of a silvery fur interwoven into the strap.

She quickly returned to her sister's room and gently fastened one end to Syrra's hair, letting it gently drape to the right side of her face. She noticed that, for a moment, her sister's face slowly lightened and she showed a slight smile. Convinced that when she finally awoke, it was time to tell her at last of how she had come to them, she relaxed a bit and laid back in the lounge chair.

“Mother! No!” Syrra screamed suddenly from her dead sleep. She sat upright in what looked to be sheer terror. Helyxia jumped to her side from the chair and wrapped her arms around the panicked girl, stroking her hair and rocking her, cooing in her ear to calm her.

“I’m so sorry for what I’ve done, honey… I can never bring her back and for that I’ll always hate myself,” Helyxia began, tears welling in her usually cold, dead eyes.

Syrra gasped for air for a moment then pushed her sister back a bit. She had an almost wild look in her eyes as she spoke.

“Not our mother, Hely…MY mother…!” she blurted out in disbelief.

Both women sat there in stunned silence, staring at each other.

[Garots]

Oh my gosh!

<3

keep up the great work!

[Syrra Coventry]

Revelations

After an uncomfortably long silence, Syrra took a long, slow, deep breath. She looked around the room for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light pouring in from the street lanterns outside the window. The cool night air ruffled the sheer curtains as it set almost every one of her nerves on edge. She shivered a moment, wrapping her arms across her chest while trying to rub away the goosebumps that had formed on every inch of her skin. Finally, she locked eyes on her older sister, trying to pierce the dull blue haze of Helyxia's frozen eyes.

"Where's Kaynen?" she asked intently. "What happened last night?"

"Last night...?" Helyxia leaned forward once more and put her arms around her sister, drawing her in close to comfort the rising panic she saw coming across her face.

Syrra leaned back, dropping her hands to the bed on either side of her, bracing herself and sliding away from her sister.

"You've been asleep for two days, honey... For two days you lied there, barely moving," she leaned forward and spoke the words slowly and deliberately.

Syrra looked into her sister's dead blue orbs to see if she could detect any falsehood in her words. She scowled at her for a moment, then leaned back once more, confusion beginning to cloud her thoughts. She looked out the window and thought to herself 'well...it's dark, so it's been at least a day. But TWO days?!' She looked down at herself to see her clothing completely stripped from her, then looked back at her sister questioningly.

"So why am I undressed like this? Please tell me what's going on!" she blurted out crossing her arms tightly over her breasts.

"Calm down, Syr. I'll tell you what I saw in you the other night, but there's something else I need to tell you. Something that father, mother, and I all kept from you these many years." She gently laid her hand on Syrra's knee, trying to keep her calmed before she continued.

"If you mean that I'm not really their daughter...I sort of knew that. I mean, I did know it, but I didn't. At least that I might be one of theirs, but not..." she let the thoughts stream out in staccato bursts, speeding up with each thought until she seemed to be speaking mostly gibberish.

"Yes, yes. May I?" Helyxia asked her, nodding to the bed. Instinctively, Syrra shuffled to the side a bit, while pulling the bed sheet up to her waist. Helyxia smirked slightly, thinking it odd, yet cute, that her sister was suddenly acting so demure in her presence. She thought about reminding her of their many trips to the lake when neither of them stayed in any garments except for the travel to and from their seclusion.

Helyxia shook the thoughts from her head as she redirected her focus to the matter before her. She gently sat on the bed next to her sister, wrapped her arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. From the tattered pocket of her frayed beyond repair leather night clothes, she pulled out the totem she had fetched a few hours before. She held it in her outstretched hand before them so they could both look at it as she slowly moved and twisted it in the air.

"This," she quietly spoke at last, "was found wrapped in the blanket that father and I found you in when you were but an infant." She paused a moment as she felt Syrra tense under her grip, knowing that she was already bursting with questions.

"Nownow... Don't be so impatient. Let me tell you, sweetie... Perhaps I'll answer your questions in the telling, hmm?" She tried to sound as much like their mother as she could, though she knew the timber in her voice would never be the same as it once was.

"Many years ago, I used to work as part of the city militia, which afforded me the ability to accompany father on his merchant trips. But you know about that." She glanced sideways at Syrra, who nodded to her slightly, then looked back at the fetish in her hand.,

"Well, on one of these trips, we happened upon a caravan at the edge of the Thondroril River, right by the bridge. You know the place, I know. I showed you the tombstones once. You had asked who was buried there and father told you that one day he would tell you their story."

"So...why did he never tell me? It's not like I was a child when he passed. He had so many opportunities," Syrra asked, confused.

"Honestly, after so many years of not finding the right moment to approach you about it, he came to me and asked that I do it. I think he was afraid of how you might react, and thought I could break it to you in a kinder way. You know he was terrible with words of comfort, especially in the face of bad news." She looked towards the window as she twiddled with the fetish between her fingers, rolling it around almost absently.

"Then came the call to serve in the humans' militia," she continued, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper, "and the time to speak with you about it completely passed me by. If I had known what was to follow, I never would have left without you knowing the truth of things." She shifted uncomfortably as she forced herself to remember the easier days of her youth.

Syrra pulled away from Helyxia and turned to face her, the cool breeze from the window brushing across her back. She shivered a moment, briefly closing her eyes and soaking up the feeling of the night air, letting it envelop her. She drew in a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stared squarely at Helyxia.

"You can tell me anything. You know this. You have always been able to do that," she spoke at last as she braced herself for what was to come.

Helyxia lowered her head and closed her eyes, conjuring up the images from that day so long ago. The images began to flash before her as she gathered her memories in as coherent a fashion as she could muster.

"We were heading to Lordaeron City so that father could set up his wares and try to bring in the extra money that mother needed to finish off the remodel of the inn." She paused a moment and giggled slightly. "Mother was always on about making sure the inn was the best it could be."

Syrra nodded slightly in agreement. "Yes...Sometimes father would joke that the inn meant more to her than we did. Of course, that always got us the best feasts when he said that, like she felt guilty."

"When we got to the Thondroril River Bridge, we saw the smoke from just over a small hill, near the water. He stopped the wagon and we went to see where it was coming from." She paused a moment, her hands visibly shaking as she stumbled over the words.

What we saw, neither of us would be able to forget." She trailed off, not wanting to continue but knowing this could be the last chance she had to tell her the truth of things.

Leaning forward slightly, Syrra grasped Helyxia's hands, squeezing them and urging her on, the fetish falling to the bed between them.

"It was horrific, Syrra," She was almost crying as the memories, now more vivid than they had been in many years, came flooding back with full force. "The smoldering remains of a merchant camp were strewn all about the bank of the river.We found pieces of crafts, charred and broken, strewn about the ravaged camp. And the bodies..." She began to cry in earnest, reliving the sight in her mind.

"What...? Who were they?" Syrra could see the torture on Helyxia's face; feel it in the trembling of her voice and body.

"We couldn't tell at first," she continued at last, composing herself. "We could tell there were humans, elves, and even dwarves among them. They...they had been slaughtered; no one person, from what we could tell, was killed the same way as another. Hung, impaled, burned, beheaded. it was gruesome!" She gasped as she opened her eyes to gaze at Syrra intently. "As we looked over the bodies, we saw they were all...different. There was something somehow wrong with each of them. They were all deformed in some way. I had heard father mumble the word 'freaks', but there was no animosity in his voice. You could hear the compassion in his voice...and the sadness.That's when we heard it..."

"Heard what? Someone survived??" Syrra pleaded, hopefully.

"Yes," Helyxia nodded somberly in return. "We heard the crying of a baby, though it was muffled, from down by the riverbank near the base of the bridge. We did our best to tread lightly and not disrespect the dead as we made our way to the river. That's where we found her..."

"Found her?" Syrra was afraid of the answer, though she could feel the trepidation in Helyxia's voice.

"Your mother," she replied flatly, trying to stay detached from the stark image that continued to haunt her memories. "She was laying face down at the edge of the water, a single serrated dagger lodged in her back.

"H-h-how do you know that she was my mother," she asked her flatly, refusing to accept what she was hearing.

Helyxia lowered her voice and leaned forward a bit. She grasped Syrra's forearms and pulled her closer. "When father rolled the woman over, there was a baby...you...cradled in her arms. You were screaming and father could tell it had been at least a day if not two since you'd eaten." She let go of her and picked up the fetish. "This...was found clipped to your mother's hair. Father took it to have something of her to give to you when he finally found the courage to tell you everything."

Syrra slowly reached for the leather strap, lightly grasping it. She turned it over in her hands. The craftsmanship was quite intricate. She found herself nodding approval of the work and forced herself to stop. She then noticed burned script on the back edge of the leather. She slowly read it aloud.

"S-S-Syrra Coventry??" She looked at Helyxia, almost accusingly. "Did you or father do this?! Tell me! What is this?!" She didn't even notice that she was almost screaming the accusations.

"No! We would never!" she shot back at her abruptly. She took a deep breath, calmed herself, and lowered her voice once more. "No... Father was almost sure that was your mother's name, though. We took you and that hair fetish and came back to Silvermoon. We stopped at Darrowshire to advise the good town folk of what had occurred so that they could send someone to bury the dead and clean up the ruined camp."

"So why is...how...?" Syrra pleaded, not sure how to ask the question.

Helyxia nodded and continued. "When we returned to town and father told mother of what we'd found, she demanded to see you immediately. She almost yanked you from my arms and started to feed you." She let out a slight giggle. It was the first time Syrra had seen her sister laugh since she had returned. "It was definitely a sight. Mother started ranting at father 'I know I said I wanted no more children...I should have known you'd find a way to have me suckling a child!' He just grinned at her, telling her that he did enjoy watching that. The whole scene was almost too funny to be embarrassed!" Helyxia laughed heartily one more time before pushing the laughter back down.

Syrra smiled briefly, happy to see her sister laughing, even if it was so brief. She turned away from Helyxia, got off the bed on the side nearest the window, then slowly paced to the balcony and stepped out to gaze at the empty and quiet streets seeming to have completely forgotten her state of undress, as if some inner fire were keeping her warm in the chill night air.

"So...the name. You have yet to explain that," she called over her shoulder.

"Yes, I was getting to that. As mother was feeding you, father explained all that had happened and showed her the fetish. He told her that he felt that they needed to somehow honor the loss of so many people in some way; that merely burying them respectfully wasn't enough. As far as he had learned from the towns folk at Darrowshire and even at Corrin's Crossing, they had never harmed anyone...that they only wished to coexist peacefully and make people happy."

She arose from the bed and slowly approached Syrra, wrapping an arm around her waist and looking out over the streets with her briefly before looking up at the stars.

"Our family name was once Mistrunner," she continued as she rested her head on Syrra's shoulder, wrapping her other arm around her sister's waist and holding her tightly. "Father felt such pain for the ones lost, and mother agreed that it would be a good thing to do, to change our family's name to yours. He spoke with all of us at length and we all agreed. We still had our family, small as it was. You had lost everyone, and at such a young age. We all went to the council the following day and spoke at length about what had occurred and pleaded our case to officially become the Coventry family. With that, mother and father were granted guardianship of you and your name was officially entered as 'Syrra Coventry, daughter of Merelithe and Barston Coventry'."

Syrra hung her head a moment, drawing her hands to her waist and held on to Helyxia's arms. She breathed smoothly and deliberately, trying to mask the deepening sorrow within her that had grown with the telling of her past.

Helyxia paused a moment. She realized since she had come so far that she needed to finish the tale.

"One more thing I need to tell you, after what happened the other night, hon," she paused, waiting for a reaction from her little sister.

"Oh, let me guess...you're adopted too, right?" Syrra blurted out in anger at no one in particular and without a clue as to the last secret withheld from her.

Helyxia pulled her arms from Syrra's waist, grabbed her by the sides and spun her around. She looked her up and down momentarily before setting her gaze upon her deep blue-green eyes.

"Your mother...she..." The words were difficult for her to utter.

"Well? What else could you tell me that could be worse than what you have so far?!" she blurted out. "Was my mother part naga or something?!" She snorted the last out, crossing her arms in a huff across her chest.

"After I tell you this last, I will leave, if you so wish it. I have no wish to hurt you any further. I will never return to this city, or your presence, if that is what you desire. But you need to hear this." She pulled her shoulders back, trying to appear as statuesque as her mother once stood when she was telling them something 'for their own good.'

"Fine...tell me and then I will decide if I even want to remain here after this night," Syrra shot back, her chest heaving with building anger.

"Helyxia hung her head once more, looking at her sister's feet as she lowered herself into kneeling in front of her. She reached out and pried her sister's hands from across her chest and gently pulled her, urging her to come down to the floor with her. At last, Syrra gave in to the urging and knelt down, facing her sister.

"Okay..." she sighed and delivered her words carefully, gauging her body's responses to her words in order to ease her into the one final secret held. "When father had found...your mother...when he had rolled her frail frame over to find you sheltered from the attacks with her own body, he noticed something he never spoke to anyone of, except myself. Well...since I was there."

"Just tell me...stop drawing this out so horribly!" Syrra shot at her nervously, most of the angry tension having left her finally.

"Well...she appeared to be a very beautiful young human woman, as far as we could tell. Very beautiful." She paused, looking her sister dead in the eyes as she proceeded.

"What's so terrible about that? Why keep it a secret. I mean, everyone knew I was half-human. Just no one ever explained how I came to be this way" She'd become completely confused.

"Most of her seemed to be a very beautiful woman... Her right arm, however, was twisted; misshapen. What further troubled both father and myself was that it was covered in this dark silvery fur and her hand, instead of fingernails, were adorned with black claws." Helyxia released her grip on Syrra's hands and leaned back. She bowed her head, waiting for the words she had been dreading since she started down this path.

The two sat motionless for several minutes. Helyxia was afraid to look up at her sister; unable to look her in the eyes for fear what she may see there. At last, Syrra slowly and quietly arose, turned, and stepped out onto the balcony. The first rays of the sun were just cresting the wall and though she knew deep within that she needed to withdraw before anyone saw her standing there completely bare to the world, she gently leaned against the balcony and finally spoke.

"I wish for you to leave now, Hely. I need to be alone. I...I cannot speak to you anymore right now." She laid her head across her arm and began to sob once more, unsure if her sorrow was for the story told or the mere fact that the truth was kept hidden from her for so many years.

Helyxia slowly rose and approached Syrra. She lightly kissed her on the shoulder before turning and leaving the chambers. She closed the door gently behind her and stood for a moment in the quiet kitchen, all the staff having left hours before. She could hear Syrra crying in earnest from within the room, but she knew that there was no comfort she could give to her now; no way to protect her from anymore truths. She leaned against the door, placing a palm against the surface and gently kissing the smooth oaken surface.

"I love you, sister," she quietly whispered before turning away. She strode out of the kitchen, picked up the armor she'd laid on the landing the night before, and quietly strode down the stairs and out of the inn. She glanced up once towards the balcony and saw Syrra with her head still down on her arm. She looked towards the city gate down the street, knowing that there was now no place for her.

"What have I done to her?" Helyxia asked herself, wishing she'd never returned. 'Is there nothing I can do anymore to stop causing the people I love such pain?'

[Syrra Coventry]

Okay...I think I'm fairly satisfied with that chapter. lol Now I need a day's rest. *grins*

[Mistress Elizabeth]

Okay...I think I'm fairly satisfied with that chapter. lol Now I need a day's rest. *grins*

Great, you get to rest, I'm still writing what I should have posted on Thursday..... I'm so bad >.<!

[Syrra Coventry]

Great, you get to rest, I'm still writing what I should have posted on Thursday..... I'm so bad >.<!

LOL Yeahwell...I've been working on this for the last 12 hours

[Mistress Elizabeth]

I'm making my final push!

I'm undecided though.... should I finish up the entry with the obvious conclusion of Elizabeth's dream.... or should I drag it on and finish it with a party and a happy ending?

---------- Post added 2010-06-26 at 09:19 PM ----------

I'm making my final push!

I'm undecided though.... should I finish up the entry with the obvious conclusion of Elizabeth's dream.... or should I drag it on and finish it with a party and a happy ending?

I just realized just how dirty that sounds....

---------- Post added 2010-06-26 at 09:24 PM ----------

Bah, I'll leave it to luck, I'll just throw a TWENTY SIDED DICE! and let it decide for me!

[Syrra Coventry]

Flight

She watched from her balcony as Helyxia disappeared through the Merchant Gate, leaning against the cold gold-inlaid wood of the balustrade. Once she had completely left her vision, Syrra felt the cold permeate her body. She looked around the merchant's road and square, noting the earliest of the vendors preparing their carts and tents for the day's trading. The sun had finally crested the city wall completely, and she instinctively shrank back into the veiled shadows of her chambers, drawing the sheer curtains closed once more.

She walked to the bed and hovered for a moment, staring down at the hair fetish that had been cast aside during her sister's retelling of her hidden origin. She leaned over to pick it up, then noticed a small, browned parchment laying where her sister had been sitting. She picked up the parchment and moved to the balcony archway for better light as she gingerly unfolded the page. Her eyes began to well up once more as she read the words in the all too familiar script of her father.

My darling Helyxia,

It has been too long that I have kept our secrets from your sister. I fear that to speak them now would only serve to drive a wedge in our family and tear a rift in it that could not be easily undone. She trusts you and believes in you, more than anyone. Even me. Perhaps there should never come a time where she does not believe she is as our own daughter. Your mother and I have tried so very hard, perhaps to the detriment of you and your brothers in some ways, to make her believe that she has always been of our family. She knows that she could not possibly be of both your mother and I, but I do think she believes she is of one of us, and this has served her well.

I could not bear to see the pain of our deceptions reflected to us as daggers from her eyes. I know that it would destroy your mother. For this reason I ask of you perhaps the hardest thing a father has ever asked of their child. I need you to judge when the time is right to tell her of her start in this world, and of her mother. Likewise, I wish for you to explain all that we did in her name to protect and love her.

There will likely come a day when there can be no more delay in this telling. You must judge that time yourself, but I trust you will know when any further concealment means the truth will never be shown to her. This cannot come to pass.

Always remember that wherever we are, and whomever you become, we will love you beyond the reach of time.

~Your father~

Syrra looked up from the parchment and out the archway, drawing in a deep breath and tipping her head back. Then it struck her as she snapped her head and thoughts back to the words written, 'any further concealment means the truth will never be shown to her'. She quickly turned and bolted for her bureau, pulled out her traveling leathers and quickly pulled on her tunic and pants. Forgetting even her shoes, she rushed out the door and down the stairs, almost knocking over one of the cooks as she did so. Bracing herself, she snapped her fingers, sparking the dust between them and began moving at an almost blinding pace, bolting for the Merchant Gate. As she rounded the corner and entered the outer gardens of the city, she stopped to catch her breath. Looking around, she saw no sign of Helyxia, save for quickly fading spots of frost on the ground in the shape of horseshoe prints leading towards the towers outside the city where the giant dragonhawks were housed. After catching her breath, she ran to the handlers. She stopped a moment to catch her breath before setting into the handler.

"The woman that was just here...the one in blackened armor! Where was she bound?" she was shouting in his face, a bit more intensely than she had planned, but not more urgently than needed.

"I...I...I don't know!" he shot back at her, stumbling for the ability to respond at all.

"She said she needed passage to Lordaeron City," came the gruff reply from the tent nearby. She paced over and peered inside. A burly, for their people, high elf sat behind a makeshift desk, papers and maps strewn about in a haphazard manner as if no care was desired or warranted.

"Well did she say where she was bound from there?" Syrra leaned on the desk, her chest still heaving from the rush to catch up to her sister. The flight master gawked a moment at her rapidly undulating chest, smirking as he imagined what might happen if just one more button was undone.

Syrra snapped her fingers in his face to redirect his attention and he shook his head a moment, looking up to her face for the first time since she'd entered the tent.

"Oh...it's you," he grumbled as he turned his head back towards his maps and papers, feigning preoccupation with his work. "I have no time to deal with half-breeds. Leave me now, or book passage as you wish."

She suddenly shot around the desk, gripping his neck from behind as she drew his left hand up high behind his back.

"You will tell me what I need to know, or losing your arm will be the least of your worries." Seething, she spat the words into his ear.

"Alright! Let loose of me and I'll check my log!" Though he tried to sound angered, she could hear the tremble of fear in his voice. She knew she had his attention, though she still sensed a hint of deception in his tone and in the very words he spoke.

Syrra tightened her grip on his neck as she drew his arm up further. "She was just here a few moments ago. You may be old, but your memory cannot be that numb if you still hold this post. Now where was she bound!" She was yelling at the man loud enough that the leather traders nearby stopped their hawking to listen to the commotion.

"Okay!" he blurted out, then forcibly calmed himself, took a deep breath, and continued. "Let me go and I will tell you what I heard her mention just before taking the hawk."

She slowly loosened her grip on his neck and arm, then reluctantly let him go. She grabbed the back of the chair and spun him around to face her. He knew that it would be best to keep his focus on her face, lest he rile her once more.

"She was obviously in a hurry, the way she rushed up. She got off that huge black demon-beast of hers... You know, most of your family has been a blight on this city and its people for going on ten years now. You'd think tha..." Syrra shot a hand forward and gripped his throat once more. This time, she squeezed hard enough he could hear, as well as feel, the soft cartilage in his throat cracking as she cut off his ability to breath. The tears welled up in his eyes as his face grew red and the veins in his neck and head began to protrude under the strain.

"If you continue to stall for time, my 'half-breed' face will be the last thing you ever see, and it won't be from pleasure you have lost all hope of obtaining from me, but from extreme anguish I will visit upon every inch of your being, both physical and mental. Have I made myself clear enough to you now?" She had never felt such anger before, not even towards her brother and his unreasonable outbursts. Her skin began to itch and burn as it had the other night, a slight smell of burning flesh emanating from the hand she had wrapped around the flight master's throat. She quickly let go and cupped her hand under her arm. Stepping back from the man, she forcibly slowed her breathing as she worked to calm herself.

She lowered her voice to a whisper, "I will ask you this only once more. Where was she bound?"

The man continued to gape at her, eyes wide as he almost absently pawed at the visible seared hand print on his neck. He turned back towards his desk, pulled a map from under the clutter of his desk, then handed it to Syrra, flinching back as she snatched it from his hand.

"She paid handsomely for the purchase of one of my faster hawks. She said she was going out to the small island called Northlight, or something like that." He stood and sheepishly approached the woman. Though he was nearly a foot taller than her in stature, he felt half her size in power. Her presence seemed to be almost overwhelming to him, though he was hard pressed to resist her allure at the same time. As he neared her and reached out to lower the map she held so that he too could see it, he couldn't help but feel a strange attraction to her. He had always despised her very existence from afar, but this was the first time he'd ever been so close to her. Perhaps he sensed what others feared...perhaps this feeling is why they hated her so. It was a feeling, he quickly realized, that he could easily lose his self-control and forget all about his own wife and children.

He closed his eyes for a moment and shook the thoughts from his mind. He opened them once more to see her glaring at him, almost squinting. Her blue-green eyes felt at once like daggers and like caressing fingers on his skin. He felt a chill run down his spine as he forced himself to look down at the map.

"Here, just north of Brill." He pointed out a small island just off the northern coast and into deep oceanic waters, out of the lee protection of the small bay on the north shore of Lordaeron. He looked back up at her and continued. "She said that after that, she was going to...how did she say it? Oh yes! She was going to 'end this business for good and all, no matter the outcome.' She was just muttering, but it was so intense." He stood, motionless, staring at Syrra, not daring to take his eyes off of hers for fear of her temper.

"Was that all she said, or have you left one last piece of information out?" She spoke flatly, almost in a monotone. She knew there was something he was holding back.

"Well, there was one more thing, but you'll know why I preferred not to mention it as I tell you the words she uttered, as if she were speaking to the dragonhawk she had just mounted." He paused a moment, searching her eyes for a tell-tale of how she might respond as he continued.

"I'm listening..." The words came from her in an almost overly soothing lilt, as if she were cooing to a lover. He could see a glint of...something...in those oddly blue-green orbs that urged him to tell her the rest.

"She said something like 'he'll pay for what he has done to me and my family, once and for all.' Yes...that's it." He finished flatly, a slight nod of his head to punctuate the words.

"Is that exactly as she said it? Word for word?" She asked him, her sultry voice relaxing him at last.

"Well...no. She said his name. I think you know it." He tried to avoid uttering the word. All of Quel'thalas held the name in such contempt that to merely utter it was worse than any curse one could spout forth on another.

"I would hear you say it exactly as she spoke it. I need to know her intent in no uncertain terms," she was almost begging him to say it to her. She had dropped the map and began to press against him, working him to speak what he knew.

"She said his name, yes... She said that it was Arthas himself that she sought to destroy." He sputtered nervously as she continued to press against him.

"Did she mention anything about seeking assistance? From anyone?" She ran a finger down his cheek delicately as she looked into his eyes, testing him for any deception.

"No. I did call to her, as she was readying to leave, that the undertaking was foolishness, but she said that it was something that she had to see to its end. Then, she took to air and headed towards that island on the map." He found it difficult to exhale as he looked at Syrra, every inch of his skin tingling as if charged with energy.

She slowly backed away from him then moved to the entrance to the tent. She looked over her shoulder at him as she lightly gripped the tent flaps in her hands. "I would have you ready Nemhain for a long flight. I will return within the hour to fetch her." He only nodded in return.

Syrra paced quickly back through the outer gardens, resting a moment on one of the wrought iron benches framed by wild rose vines. She plucked a particularly deep red rose from the vine closest to her and sniffed it a moment. She began to slowly rub the flower on her neck as she stretched her head back, closing her eyes as her face pointed towards the sun. The rose slowly crumbled as the fluid from its core lightly trickled down her neck, petals falling to the bench and the cobblestone ground at her feet. She stood, rubbing the fluid into her neck as she strode back through Merchant's Gate and returned to the inn. As she passed through the kitchen she grabbed a steaming hot roll from the cooling tray and entered her chambers, closing the door behind her.

She leaned for a moment, her chest and cheek pressed against the door as she closed her eyes. Muttering to herself, she stifled the tears as best she could.

"I just needed some time," she barely spoke, her voice cracking as she forced the words past her lips. "Hely...please no...what are you doing to yourself...to us...?"

She slowly slid to the floor, slumped against the door, every inch of her convulsing as she began to cry in earnest.

[Syrra Coventry]

Harrol

The great Onyx Netherdrake landed with a heavy thud, its massive clawed feet digging deep into the black and gray gravel of the northern beach. Four large, intricately decorated lanterns ringed the large circle designed to mark a safe zone for such arrivals. Syrra cupped her hand over her eyes to shield them from the fading sun as she looked over the vast expanse of the almost completely black waters of the north sea. The whitecaps created by the northerly winds stood in stark contrast to the otherwise completely barren horizon as the distant lights of the northern aurora playfully danced in and out of view.

Syrra turned and slid down the smooth, leathery side of the huge drake and patted it as she drew the reigns forward, moving to the great beast's head. She gently stroked the top of its nose as she laid her head against its cheek. The drake slowly tipped its head sideways to nudge her in return, dipping its head slightly as if it were bowing to her.

"Thank you, Nemhain, for keeping me safe, as always," she whispered in its ear as she began to strip the reigns from over its massive head, continuing to pat its nose as she did so. She paced around the flank of the massive Netherdrake and unhooked the shining silver clasp. She dug her hand into her travel bag for a moment, then withdrew a large, flat brush. She slid her hand deftly under the leather strap then slowly began brushing the sweat from the drake's massive body, cooing to the great beast as she did so.

"She's not here, lass," came the brusque voice, startling her visibly. She turned quickly on her heal, her boot digging into the gravel, to face the source of her surprise.

"I'm sorry?" She asked blankly as she eyed the dwarf standing before her. He had dark yellow-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His face looked incredibly youthful for the timber of his voice, she thought as she continued to eye him. He wore heavy brown work overalls, tools dangling about from various pockets and hooks, and a large-brimmed and well-weathered hat that had seen the better part of a century of drudgery, she guessed.

"Helyxia...she left 'ere a few hours ago. She said ye'd be showin' up soon, and I was t' be nice to ye." His voice, though gruff, struck a familiar chord in her mind.

"Harrol?! Is that you?? Oh my!" She lunged forward, dropping to her knees as she wrapped her arms around his burly neck and squeezed him tightly.

"Yes! Yes! It's me ye daft woman!" He grumbled at her, unaccustomed to the affections thrown at him. He tried to hide the grin underneath his extensive beard and moustache, but she saw the familiar curl of the hairs at the corner of his mouth.

"Now don't be grumbling like that at me, you old coot!" She giggled, unable to feign anger at the sight of the dwarf who had served as traveling companion to her sister, as well as good friend to them both. She waved a hand in front of her, dismissing her words out of hand. "Anyway, you said she left here a few hours ago? Where'd she go?"

"She told me ye'd be askin' that and I was t' not tell ye." He paused a moment, wrinkling his nose up as if to stave off a horrific odor. "Look, I know I shouldnae be tellin' ya this, lass, but," he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence without upsetting the young woman.

"She went after him, didn't she," Syrra asked coldly; flatly. She leaned back, staring Harrol squarely and unblinking in the eyes. Her eyebrows drew together, scowling at him in a way that had always turned his blood cold, afraid to ask what was in her darkest thoughts at the moment she gave him such a look. He had seen it on occasion when she was younger. It most often appeared when she could sense someone was purposely keeping something from her. He imagined it was part of what drove her sister, Helyxia, toward her present folly.

"Yes," he responded after an interminable pause. He knew in his heart that he needed to confide in her everything she asked of him. Helyxia had imparted the events of the previous few days to him in a rushed manner, but had taken her time to be very detailed in her retelling when she reached the climax of her story and her flight from Silvermoon.

"I'm beggin' ya, lass. Don't follow her. This is somethin' that's been eatin' at her very core since she was first freed from that monster. Before she left fer Silvermoon, she'd told me that it would be 'er last trip there. She had some money she'd taken from those ghastly Scourge and what she had left she was gonna leave fer whoever was runnin' the ol' family inn." He paused once more, squinting at Syrra to see if the measure of his words were getting through her blank facade. She sat as beautiful and still as a fancy garden statue, he thought to himself as he searched for the words to continue.

"What do you mean by 'all she had left'? How much had she taken from them?" Her sudden response startled him as he took a step back and looked around nervously as though he were checking for someone who may be eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Oh...over the last few years?" he looked up for a moment as if trying to add the numbers on an abacus only he could see. "Well, let's see. She had me build this great little inn out by Warso..." He looked at her, seeing the already growing confusion on her face. "That's right. She told me ye'd not been out Northrend way as yet. Okay, there's this huge Orc war fortress out in a place called Borean Tundra on the west coast of Northrend. The place is stuffy and no pleasing accommodations fer the fairer sex, as it were. So, with the warchief's approval, she had me build this great inn and tavern called 'The Hearth'. Ye'll have t' see it next time yer up that way!" He beamed, proud to speak of his own handiwork at every opportunity.

"Well that's fine and all, Harrol, but...what's this place?" She waved her hand, gesturing to the mass of the small island they now stood upon. She looked back at him questioningly.

"C'mere, lass. Come sit yerself down and relax. Tartera 'as already spoken to yer beastie there, so yer not likely t' be goin' anywhere tonight." He grabbed her gruffly by the hand and lead her down the path from the flight area to the circle of tents at the center of the island. A small fire with a wrought iron cooking rack laid across the stones ringing the small blaze created a dim dance of light and shadow across the faces of the tents. Small wooden benches were set around the fire in haphazard fashion, reminding Syrra of the family camping trips to the forests of of Silverpine on the shores of Lordamere Lake.

Syrra seated herself across the fire from Harrol and rubbed her hands together and the lightly licking flames. For the first time since her arrival, she felt the cold permeate her armor. Too late, she realized she would have been better off donning her winter gear instead of the flimsy, ornate leathers she found herself nearly falling out of at that moment. She peered at the dwarf over the flame as she calculated her next questions carefully.

"Who is Tartera and what is this place??" she almost growled the questions at him, failing to hide her impatience at last.

"Well...errr...Ye'see, Tartera is more of a what than a who, actually," he responded, doing his best not to trip on the words as they fell out of his mouth in a jumbled heap.

"Okay. I'll bite. What is Tartera?" She gritted her teeth as she did her level best to remain calm, though his circular conversations were making it difficult. She breathed deeply for a moment then smirked and began to chuckle as she realized he always spoke in such a manner, and it always did rile her. Now she wondered if he did it to elicit just such a response.

He flinched back for a moment, then noted the change in her demeanor and the lilting giggle that always softened him in a way he preferred it didn't. He pointed towards the northwest shoreline just out of the glow of the torches where she'd first hit shore. There in the glinting light she could make out Nemhain and standing next to her a massive dread steed, nearly as large as her netherdrake.

"That be the monstrous beastie, lass. I know yer sister loves that foul creature...well, she loves it as much as she could feel for anything nowadays, I s'pose. Anyways, that's Helyxia's horse." He followed Syrra's gaze to the huge steed and mumbled, "I'm sure'n I'm doing the beast as much of a disservice as many have done yer sister." He lowered his head, staring at his cupped hands that he'd been absently warming at the fire. "I really shouldn't do that. The great thing has saved her life at least three time that I kin count." He mumbled meekly, as much to himself as to Syrra.

"Look," Syrra sighed as she turned back around on the bench and gazed at Harrol again, her eyes trying to reassure him where her words failed. "I'm sorry I've been so impatient with you, old friend, but when we last spoke, I drove her off for merely honoring father's wishes. If she's gone on this fool's errand because of what I said, and something should happen to her, I don't know if I could forgive myself." She sighed as she let the last of her thoughts fall away as if shedding a skin that pained her to wear.

Harrol lowered his voice and leaned forward, doing his level best to show a smile from under the mass of hair he called a beard, unsure if his intent would be felt as he wished it to be.

"Lass," he began, fumbling his way through the unfamiliar territory of caring words. "She told me of the way ye left things, you an' she. She don't blame ya. She don't even blame herself, though I was fer sure that she was doin' just that. She blames, though, that monster tha's keepin' himself tucked in that massive black citadel o' his." He paused a moment, the interminable silence only broken by the occasional crackle of wood pitch in the fire. "She ain't been right since she...y'know..."

Syrra shook her head slightly, though remained completely silent; a feat she rarely pulled off completely.

"Since she'd been back. Y'know, after she...sorta died an' all." He clamped his mouth shut and looked down into the fire, nearly sucking his lips into his mouth as he fought back some words he thought better than to say in the presence of a lady.

"Oh Harrol. You know, she didn't just sorta die. She really did die." She tried to push back a smirk as the dwarf seemed to wrestle with the whole concept of undeath. She continued quickly, fearing his grip on sanity would slip a bit if she didn't finish her thoughts. "She was still the same person, underneath the horrors that were visited upon her. That's a great feat in itself! From what I hear, many of those freed are merely husks waiting to be directed by a new master. What she was, at her very core, managed to survive. We have to be thankful for that."

Harrol nodded a bit, then slowly looked at Syrra, a look of mild alarm crossing his face. "An' now she goes t' put out that flame fer good and all."

"That's why I'm out here now. I'm trying to stop her from such foolishness!" She was shouting at no one, directing her anger at the slight northerly wind that blew across them, causing her skin to tingle every time it did so.

Shaking his head, Harrol bore his gaze into her; a look only her father could occasionally pull off to curb her impetuous demeanor before. "You will do no such thing, Lass. You know she's nae been th' same since her return. She told me she tried her best t' reconnect with both you and yer brother, but not only did she fail. She also lamented that she had some sort of...how did she say it?" He looked up a moment, searching for the words as if to be delivered by the ancients. "...a hole in her soul she couldnae fill. I don't think you perishing with her would help that in this life er the next. D'you?" His gaze softened, sensing he'd reached her.

"I know you're right, Harrol. It's just so very tough. I mean, I just got her back, and now she's left, likely for good. After all of that, I think I'm left with some of the harshest words I've ever spoken to her." She slumped her shoulders forward, resting her weight on her arms as they lay loosely propped on her knees. She stared into the fire a moment before the dwarf's words brought her out of the mesmerizing link to the camp fire.

"She told me one final thing before she left, wee one." His voice came as smooth as ever he'd been able to muster before. "She said to tell you that she loves ye and understands why you were upset and that ye were t' ne'er be angry with yerself over it, 'cause she knows tha' ye love her too."

Syrra sighed at last, looking first at Harrol, then drawing her gaze about the darkened isle. She felt the desolation in the air and the black and gray gravel ground. Only clumps of nettle, clover, and crab grass grew through the tiny rocks, mostly in small patches scattered about. Even in the desolation, she could sense the raw exposure, as if every muscle and nerve were alive, tingling just below the surface of her skin. She could feel it on the air; the reason Helyxia had chosen this place.

"So this is Northlight Isle, Harrol?" She rose as she asked the question. She put her hands behind her back and began to walk in a small but ever expanding circle around the camp as a supervisor overseeing a massive construction project. She almost strutted as she paced around in a circle awaiting the dwarf's response.

"Aye! And she had such grand designs fer tha place! I'll show ye the plans in the mornin'!" For the first time since their initial greeting, Harrol felt his heart lift a bit. He would never admit it to Syrra, but she knew. She felt the atmosphere, and the weight that she'd been carrying on her heart and soul since the fall of Quel'Thalas, actually ease enough for her to not feel guilty about a smile and a laugh.

The morning would see the potential of the island, if she could manage to still her wanderlust long enough to let the future take shape before she dove headlong into it, both eyes held wide shut as she did so.

Northlight Isle

Syrra drew her cloak tighter about herself, shivering in the icy cold breeze off the calm ocean waters. Weedgrasses grew in parts that weren't already heavily trodden on by the workers that had been busy constructing the pavilion and houses. The plans Harrol had shown her were surprisingly ambitious and she'd often wondered if it was possible to complete. What laid before her, though still under construction, was a wondrous hamlet of intricate granite, warpwood, and ivy buildings that would make any elf proud to call the place home.

The Grand Pavilion stood in the middle of the semi-circle of buildings, open to a small stone dock to the south. The pavilion itself was a large circle with a deep purple canopy of thickly woven wool interlaced with titanweave fibers to hold up under the harsh conditions of the small island. A warpwood gazebo covered in a hardy northern vine graced the very center of the massive stage. To the east and west were a series of small one-room buildings meant as private quarters and at the very north was a massive tavern that was nearly double the size of the old Hearth Inn of Northrend. The southern face of the tavern was of the same rich and thick material as the covering for the pavilion, designed to be pulled up onto a warpwood frame to make the whole of the southern face of the inn open to the pavilion. Though the interior was far from finished, Syrra could already see the solid granite bar itself nearly finished, running the whole length of the west wall. Intricately woven gold-framed mirrors covered in a thick protective cloth were leaning against the interior northern wall, and the granite staircase along that same wall lead up to only open rafters, the second story still under construction.

Syrra paced around the pavilion to the massive open fire pit at the southern end of the festival grounds, as she called them, to warm herself by the brightly burning fire. The goblins gathered about the fire pit on the semi-circular granite benches were busy wolfing down their dinners as they prepared to launch into the evening's work on the tavern itself.

"So," Syrra spoke up at last, looking directly at the construction overseer. "Have any idea when this place will be finished?"

"Ha! Likely as soon as ye run out of money, Lass!" Harrol barked loudly from behind. She'd not noticed that he had come in shortly after her, having been so wrapped up in her surveying of the work.

"I'll have you know that we take our jobs very seriously, friend!" the overseer shot back at the dwarf, obviously personally offended by the remark.

"Sure...sure...as long as the money lasts, you're very interested in making good on the work," the dwarf replied, staring down the goblin as only one crafting perfectionist could do to another.

"Look, you hairy rock... I gave my promise to the young lady and my word is as good as gold," the overseer huffed in indignation.

"Well," he eased back a bit, still mistrusting of the goblin. "I'll just have to stick around, in case there's any problems." He nodded, satisfied in his steadfastness.

"Now now, Harrol," Syrra half-giggled as she tried to calm him. "I'm sure that the work will be as fine in its finishing as it appears so far."

The dwarf raised his index finger, mouth open and ready to interrupt her thoughts.

"And I'm sure...and I'm sure...if anything is out of place, I can trust you to let me know, right?" She winked at him and offered up a flask of Barleybrew to stem further rebuttal.

Harrol's grimace slowly turned to a broad smile as he took the flask from her and swigged the last of the spicy ale.

'Indeed I will, Missy...just let them try to pull one over on me!' he thought to himself, sure he'd find something to report given the time to dissect the work.

They stood silently, looking at the grounds in the fading daylight, both of them sensing the deepening chill of the night air lapping at them from the imposing blackness of the northern sea. She slowly let the happiness she'd felt during the day slip away with the warmth of her body as her thoughts drifted to the events of the past few months. To her it seemed like only yesterday that she had followed her sister to this island and discovered her intent for it. That day, she vowed to honor her sister's wishes to the letter.

"Okay Harrol, I'm going to head to bed. It's been a long day and tomorrow promises to be even longer." Syrra took a deep breath and feigned a smile to the dwarf, then spun on her heel to leave.

"Aye, that it will be," he replied, more muted than she'd expected.

She strode over to the largest of the cottages lining the western edge of the pavilion; the cottage specifically designed for her by Harrol. He had worked to replicate the look of her quarters in Silvermoon, though he had confided in her that there was just no way to reproduce a balcony. She had chided him about his long-winded boasting of how he could build anything he set his mind to. He had shot back at her that there were some things not even the titans could do, and a balcony on a one-story cabin was one of them. She smiled to herself as she paused by the door a moment, looked over her shoulder, and considered Harrol as he rushed about, harassing the goblins. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the door and ducked in at last, latching the door closed behind her as quietly as possible.

She slowly peeled her winter leathers from her body and sat on the edge of the bed, looking around for a moment as she yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She picked up the jar of rose lotion from the nightstand, gently poured out a hefty dollop in the palm of her hand and began to massage the lotion into her chest and arms. She took another dab of lotion and massaged it into her stomach and waist, lingering as she considered what the morning was due to bring. At last, she rubbed the excess lotion over her legs, taking extra time to loosen her calf muscles. She felt the tension drain from her finally as the soothing oils seeped into her chaffed skin. She replaced the jar on the stand and pulled the thick fur blankets over herself as she laid down to sleep, the last ounce of energy slipping from her as she nestled under the heavy pile of furs and skins.

She shivered a bit as the cold morning air snapped her awake. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus on the activity outside her window; the sleep in them making it hard to do so. She rubbed her eyes briefly, then looked again out the window at the rising din coming from the tavern just outside.

Syrra scrambled for her winter leathers which hung over the fireplace to dry, the embers still rustling in the slight breeze floating down the chimney. She quickly pulled the leathers on, trying to outpace the seeping chill in the morning air. Snagging the heavy black leather cloak from a hook by the door, she rushed out to meet the overseer, pulling the cloak on as she sprinted across the pavilion.

A large airship was hovering over the pavilion's northern dais, a large draped object hanging from cables strung beneath it. It slowly lowered the object in place with a thud that vibrated the solid packed earth and gravel ground beneath her feet as she strode out the door to meet with the construction overseer. The large, for a goblin, man waved her off, and in that moment the massive draped object wavered to one side. He yelled some Goblin curse at the pilot of the small airship; a word that she knew all too well was a slur on his lineage, though she wasn't quite sure of the translation.

Syrra stood back a few more moments as the workers unhooked the cables and the airship slowly lumbered south, out of sight. She began to lift the edge of the drape. As she did so, the overseer slapped her hand with a sudden and vicious swipe that stung sharply in the cold morning air.

"You don't get to see it until it's time to unveil it! I don't care how much you...well...okay, if you paid me enough, then maybe. But no! No touching until tonight!" The goblin overseer barked angrily at her. She knew he had commissioned a Night Elf artisan for the sculpture, but he had refused to let her see his plans, or the finished product, before the unveiling.

"Jerix, you know I trust you. I'm just anxious to see it," she stammered, too innocently for him to believe her protestations were in earnest.

"You know if'n ye drop him enough coin, he'll let ya hammer it 'til it's a pile o' rubble, Lass," Harrol barked, half smiling and half snarling in their direction as he exited his cottage just south of her own.

"And don't be tryin' t'say any differ'nt!" he shot in the goblin's direction as the overseer opened his mouth to defend himself.

"I was just going to say that no amount of coin could purchase my silence as this work of art is defiled, friend."

"Don't 'friend' me, ya yammerin' pile o' green goo! Yer as slitherin' an' slimy as that muck in Un'Goro and ye know it!" Harrol growled at him, firm in his understanding of the Goblin ways of doing business.

The overseer took a deep breath, ready to rebut the dwarf once again, but Syrra placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Harrol...? Was there something more specific you wanted to say, or are you just full of spite and malice this morning?" Syrra giggled as she questioned the dwarf, knowing full well the likely answer.

"Well," he shuffled his feet, at a complete loss for a stinging reply. "I just wanted t' make sure everythin' was going well fer this evenin', an' when I saw that thing there startin' t' wobble, I got flustered," he said, almost too sheepishly.

"You got...flustered..." Syrra laughed so loudly that the goblins doing the finishing touches on the finer woodwork and masonry stopped what they were doing in stunned silence. She'd spent several weeks in their wintry home of Everlook as she and Harrol had gone over the isle's plans with the overseer and his crew, and the goblins had grown used to her almost infectious joviality. Everyone had noticed, though, that in recent days she'd not smiled or laughed much. They weren't sure if it was from the news that the message that she kept in her cloak pocket day and night until it was almost unreadable bore her, if it was the construction delays which of course cost more money, or if it was something else entirely. She spent many evenings sitting on any one of several granite benches that dotted the northern shore of the small isle, silently staring at the lights in the sky that almost seemed to dance as they told some ancient and unknown secrets to those who could understand their movements.

She spun around quickly, looking about the grounds, checking to make sure that all the final construction work as complete. She briefly glanced about and all the cobalt scroll work on the warpwood trim around the pavilion was gleaming that rich blue-white shimmer it was famous for. The granite was so polished that one could eat off of it; some goblins indeed were as they took their morning break. The firepit was freshly stocked with heavy dry timber from the mainland, and the underground storage pit for wood was likewise filled to overflowing.

She turned to look at the tavern at last. The heavy, rich drape was pulled up and strung on the warpwood frame, the cobalt filigree trim shining in the morning sun giving off glinting rays as the light danced across the scroll work. All the heavy granite tables and warpwood chairs were receiving their final touch-ups from the craftsmen as a mason did some last minute polishing on the granite banister of the grand staircase. A trio of goblin teamsters were pulling the massive cobalt chandelier into place, the thick cobalt and glass lanterns lightly clinking as they positioned it just so. The upper floor warpwood banister, trimmed in cobalt as well, glowed from the deep blue wall sconces that lined the walls and open beam rafter pillars.

Syrra, at last, affixed her eyes on the young dwarf maidens scurrying about the tavern, distributing finely crafted mugs and platters about the tables, tapping the kegs of the finest dwarven, elfin, and exotic brews, and generally making final preparations for the opening. Then she noted the young, muscular, and quite jovial bartender. She noticed something uncannily familiar about him as Harrol interrupted her thoughts.

"That's me nephew, Doran. He's me brother's youngest, but he's the best the fam'ly had t' offer in the way o' gifted bartenders. He's a hard worker, and knows his brews almost as well as...well...me!" the dwarf beamed proudly.

Syrra looked at him a moment, the sadness quickly spreading across her face.

"Oh Harrol...I'm afraid, then, we're in real trouble," she sobbed, dropping to the ground, her face in her hands as she cried.

"Wha? Wha' happ'n?!" Harrol quickly rushed to her, rubbing her shoulders as he tried to console her, afraid that his nephew and by extension he himself, had somehow wronged his favorite elf.

Syrra slowly looked up at him, almost unable to control the laughter she'd been masking as sobbing.

"I'll be... Well!" the dwarf stormed off, but only managed a few steps before succumbing to her infectious laughter. "That's just..." He couldn't stop laughing, almost falling to the ground.

"Don't ev'r do that t' me again!" he tried to scold her, but to no real effect.

"You silly dwarf. You know I'll just find another way to get under your skin," she snickered at him.

"One o' these days, Lass," he tried to sound threatening, but failed miserably.

"Yes, yes, Harrol. 'One o' these days ye'll regret teasin' me. I just won' be there when ya need me most.' That about right?" she smiled as she she leaned forward, brushing the muffin crumbs from his beard.

"Yes...well..." he slowly stammered, turning to look away from her, cheeks red from having caught a glimpse down her tunic. He tried to put the image out of his mind.

Syrra smiled a bit to herself, then looked out across the water at the mist shrouded northeast horizon.

"It's days like this I miss her the most, Harrol," she trailed off, lost in thought.

"Aye...me too, Little Miss. Me too," he let the thought of his lost friend be swallowed by the beauty of the calm ocean about them.

Syrra scowled for a moment at him, then let it fade into a slight smile. She thought to herself that if anyone aside from her father were allowed to call her by that name, it was Harrol. He'd been as much a father to her as a friend these last few months.

[Syrra Coventry]

Waking Nightmares

"Hely! Stop! Come back!" Syrra sat bolt upright from her disturbed sleep. Her slumber had been restless ever since the first inklings of something dwelling deep within her being. The night of her fight with Kaynen was still fresh on her mind, as were the words that her sister, Helyxia, had bore her.

She looked around her and saw the refugees sleeping about the area on ragged blankets and on bare ground. She'd not seen such a sorry state of existence since her last unfortunate run-in with a Scourge encampment. Pulling her cloak tight about her in the chill mist of the night, she slowly rose to wander the camp. 'So many lost and aimless,' She muttered under her breath, trying not to disturb the sleeping men, women, and children gathered about the massive gates of the Greymane Wall. Wandering amid the sleeping humans were a scant few mounted militia men. She'd learned that they were from the nearby village of Pyrewood and had, at the first sign of the disturbances in the region, taken as many as would go with them in an attempt to make a plea to the Gilneans for sanctuary.

As she wandered towards the western end of the refuge camp, she could make out a lone man, older than most of the others, leaning against a tree high on the hill that bore a rise in the wall. She approached him in plain view of the torch and campfire lights, taking care not to startle the old man. As she neared him, his eyes locked on her and he stretched a gnarled hand, wrinkled skin looking as if it might fall off his bones at the slightest jostling, out to her.

"Could you spare any food, miss? Any water? Anything?" His voice was weak and rasping, speaking to her of both his age and state of health. His eyes were sunken to the point they looked like mere black specs in his almost ashen face.

Syrra paused a moment and made a beckoning gesture and snap at the treeline. Slowly from the mist-enshrouded shadows, her saber approached, head lowered and sniffing at the ground. She suddenly stopped and side-stepped disturbed earth between the woods and the two on the hill. Syrra looked questioningly at Ciara, beckoning her over more forcefully.

"Graves, miss.... That's where refugees are buried, should disease or age take them," the old man managed, coughing heavily as he tried to regain his breath. He tried to smile at her, but his visage became twisted; tormented.

Syrra took Ciara by the fur on her cheek and lead her up to the place under the tree the old man had chosen to rest. She carefully reached into one of the over-sized travel bags hooked to the saddle and withdrew two small wrapped packages. She moved to sit in front of him, next to the small extinguished fire pit. Laying one of the packages down, she began to gently remove the heavy white paper from the one she still grasped. Gingerly, she unfolded the paper to reveal a small piece of white cheese which she offered to the man in front of her. He looked at her a moment, his arm tentatively stretched to reach for the small lump of food. She managed a half smile and nodded to him as he took it from her, being careful not to touch her skin.

"How long have you been here," she asked him at last, the concern almost overly apparent in her voice. She looked at him intently, waiting for any response.

The old man took a bite of the cheese, careful not to eat it too quickly, lest he be left with no food once more. After he finished the bite, he looked back at her with those dull black pinpoints that served as his eyes.

"I lost count so many years ago, miss." He gulped dryly, then looked down over the rest of the encampment. "My wife, daughter, and I were one of the first to arrive here, and this was before the Scourge attacks." He looked back at her, the tremor gone out of his body.

"So long," Her voice trailed off a bit as she spoke the words to herself as much as anyone else. "Have any gone beyond the gates here? Surely some must have..."

"None. They've never let anyone through for as long as I can remember," he interrupted her, as if knowing where her questions were leading. "And none, miss, are likely to ever pass through those gates." he finished, matter-of-factly.

"Then why do you continue to stay here? Why did you not move into the southern kingdoms with the others?" Her curiosity over the old man's state had, for a time, overcome the questions that still burned within her.

He looked at her a moment before lowering his eyes. "We thought that our fellow Gilneans would see us out here and let us in. We had no idea that they'd turn against the people of Pyrewood as they'd turned their backs on everyone else. As hope for entry died out, many of us became either too ill, or too scared to make that journey." He paused and looked over his shoulder as if her were trying to see through the wall itself.

"Most of us now have no family that we know of, save for the ones that may still be behind this...monstrosity. I suppose it is that glimmer of hope that keeps many of us here." He looked back down tot he piece of cheese in his hand, then slowly took another bite, closing his eyes and savoring the taste.

Syrra looked past him and at the massive wall as it rose up and disappeared into the evening mist. After a few moments passed, lost in wondering, she shook her head and looked down at the remaining package. She picked it up and carefully peeled back the blue paper to reveal a small bottle of an amber liquid. She turned it over in her hands, looking at every movement of the liquid through the clear glass. She held it out to the old man, then looked at him, a look of a parent scolding a mischievous crossing her face.

"This is Silvermoon Honey Mead," she said in a careful and hushed tone. "It's quite strong, but it mixes well with that cheese you're eating."

He smiled, gave her a slight nod, and lightly plucked the small glass bottled from between her hands. He unhooked the stopper and waved the open bottle under his hose. His eyes seemed to glass over as he closed them.

"I haven't had the pleasure of that aroma for years. I don't know how to thank you for this small kindness," he managed after a few moments. He lightly sipped the mead at the same time as he took another nibble of cheese, letting the two tastes swirl in his mouth.

"I do have another question of you, if you would indulge me," she spoke at last, having let him savor the food long enough as far as she was concerned.

"After what you have done for me tonight, you only have but to ask," he said, the rasp in his voice almost unnoticeable now.

Syrra breathed in slowly, looked around, and leaned forward a bit, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper.

"Have you ever seen anyone come out from behind the wall," she asked at last, her voice slightly unsteady.

"None since I've been here, miss. No," he responded flatly as he turned his attention back to the mead and cheese.

Syrra lowered her head as the deepening pit in her stomach tore at her.She'd hoped that there was some way to tell is her mother had come through this area, as she knew the markings and peculiar way the leather of the hair fetish was treated was something only a Gilnean tanner would do to the material. She raised her hand, carefully unhooking it from her hair, and began to twist it between her fingers, staring at it in the dim torchlight. As she was turning it over, lost in thought, the old man looked up and sudden stuck his hand out to her.

"Miss? Let me see that thing, please," he asked her, wiggling his fingers over his open and upturned palm. There was a curious tone to his voice that took her aback as she thrust it out to his waiting hand almost out of reflex.

He looked it over carefully, sliding his fingers over the stitching and burnishing as he looked at the small tokens attached, as well as the name that was burned into it. He read the name aloud, then looked back at her, his eyes narrowing as his brow furrowed.

"Where did you get this?!" he demanded, the rasp in his voice causing it to crack as he almost barked the question at her.

"It...it was my mother's. The family that adopted me...they found it on her when they found me. Why?" she shot back at him defensively.

He looked at her a moment as she leaned back and away from him. His expression softened a bit as he glanced back and forth between the fetish and Syrra. He seemed to get lost in his own memories for a moment before refocusing on her once more. He held the leather fetish out to her to take it back. She tentatively took it, still shying away from any physical contact with him.

"I made that there hair totem, as we call it, many years ago. It was one of my first works, but I remember the woman I made it for quite well." He spoke slowly and deliberately as he watched for Syrra's reaction.

Syrra leaned forward suddenly, a look of frustrated anger on her face. "This better not be some twisted and sick joke, old man. I don't have it in me anymore to forgive such things."

He smiled slightly at her as he sparked a flint at the stone-ringed fire pit, coaxing a small flame to start. He had grown colder, even after the bit of food and drink, feeling the chill of the woods creeping into his bones. Syrra paused, watching him for a few seconds before assisting him in lighting the campfire. After a few minutes, the fire blazing bright and hot enough to warm the old man some, he began.

"I remember the day she came to me some forty odd years ago now it must have been. This caravan of people from all over, craftsmen mostly, pulled into Pyrewood from southern Gilneas. The woman looked to be pregnant, but I couldn't really tell for sure. She just had that look about her." He paused to take another sip of mead, wetting his throat enough to continue.

Syrra was visibly rocking herself, her eyes closed, as she listened to him intently. Her mind was drifting, letting the words seep in and help form the images of that day in her head.

"They set up their trade stalls just outside the gates, near the ones we always set up just inside and on either side of the main road. She was a very pretty Gilnean woman." He nodded almost absently to Syrra as he ran over the events of that day.

"With her was a very tall and quiet elf. They were holding hands as she was thumbing through the goods on everyone's cart tables. When they came to my hair totems, the elf asked about them and I told him that it was a simple tradition where we take these specially cured strips of leather, attached items to them associated with the women of a family, and etch their names in them. It's not unlike families that wear signet rings, sewn emblems on jerkins, and the like. " He waived off that last as if inconsequential.

"He actually smiled when I told him about it and asked the woman with him if she had one. She'd said she hadn't found the time, or somesuch, so no she had never had one done." He stopped, as if losing his place in a book.

"So what of these tokens.l..do you know what they mean, or did she never say?" Syrra was almost pleading for an answer.

"Well, no. They never tell me what these things mean, and I never asked anyone. She told me her name and its spelling so I could etch that into the strap, I affixed the tokens she'd rushed back to her wagon to fetch, and I gave the completed piece to her. She seemed to be happy with the way it came out, as she immediately had the elf attach it to her hair." The old man beamed at that last, still proud of his work so many years later.

"Is that all? Is there nothing more that you remember of her?" Syrra asked, dejected that he couldn't go into more detail than he already had.

"No...they packed up the caravan the next day and headed towards Lordaeron City, last I had seen. That elf, though...there was something about him," he added as he looked at the fire with a puzzled expression on his face.

"How so?" she asked him, a bit uneasy about the answer that might come.

"Well, for one, his eyes were an intense shade of blue. It's not something I'd seen before and it unsettled me at the time." He shifted a bit, seeming somewhat uncomfortable.

"There's something you're leaving out...please tell me everything you can remember," she steadied her breathing in order to sound as calm as possible.

"Well, the elf seemed uncomfortable with the others they were traveling with, but in...I'm guessing your mother's?...presence, he seemed at peace. It was only when they were wandering around separately that he seemed to be agitated. No, I'm not sure if it's agitated, or just plain scared, to be honest with you. You know?" He looked at Syrra for a semblance of recognition in what he was trying to convey to her.

"That's all I can remember...except..." He paused, not sure how to explain what else he remembered without either causing the woman's ire, or adding to whatever demons she seemed to be fighting.

"Except...? Please don't stop now," she urged him on, keeping her tone even.

"Well...and please don't be upset with me, but...the people around here called the group with the caravan... 'freaks'." He hurriedly continued, interrupting her as she opened her mouth to respond. "It's just a term they use for people with odd physical and mental differences who have chosen to live a separate and nomadic life with others like them. They were good people. They never stole, or tried to swindle anyone out of anything. They were polite, and always with a kind word for anyone who talked with them. The group had traveled through these woods twice a year. But it was the first time I'd seen...your mother and the elf with her." He sat back, seeming to almost be worn down from the recollections.

Syrra sat silently with him for the rest of the night, not speaking a word. She couldn't sleep. Not now. As strange howling began to emanate from beyond the wall, she shivered and looked looked at the old man. He slept through the haunting sounds, which calmed her some. She sat still through the evening running the visions through her head as the old man had spoken them. As he stirred during the first rays of light trying to break through the mists, she fished a few more packets of food and drink from the over-sized traveling pack, laid them next to him, and climbed up quietly on Ciara's back.

Just as she was about to leave, he stirred at last and she looked back at him to thank him for what he told her. He held a hand up a moment, motioning for her to come back to him. As she did so, he sat up slowly and worked to clear his throat.

"You may want to go to Ambermill, just up the road and toward the lake. Maybe the Kirin'Tor mages there can help you where I have failed to ease your concerns." He smiled slightly at her, and she simply nodded and turned back towards the roadway on the other side of the encampment.

She was careful to move Ciara through the throngs of sleeping and refugees without disturbing anyone, save for the occasional guard that simply looked at her oddly. As she reached the road, she glanced down the road as it turned east before guiding her saber back north, towards Ambermill, Pyrewood, and Lordaeron City.