#synric

[synric-silversong]

Spiritual Emotions

(Character reflection of a discord rp)

mentions: @divergent-lines​

Synric left the house shortly after Mey had informed him of the extra rooms. He had nodded, he remembered that much, but after that he couldn’t focus. Had he said he would step out to check on his wolf-hawk first? The cool breeze was a nice distraction and the silence was more welcoming than the buzz of people around.

               Today had felt like many days in one. Starting out with an easy, carefree flight through the mountains, ending with a nice long walk through the snowy mountainside to transition into a mix of emotional dishevel and distress and confusion.

               Synric sighed as he leaned his arm against the tree, resting his forehead on top of it. Despite the shift in the day, it hadn’t been hard to adjust to the changes, but he had felt like he needed to be a steady, unmoving pillar for the rest of them. It was a feeling he had not liked and no matter how much he tried fighting it, his body and words counteracted him. He needed to stay steady and strong for those who couldn’t.  A conundrum of his own thoughts for sure, and something he needed to file away and figure out why. Another puzzle of himself.

               Night time buzzing from the bugs grabbed his attention for a time, and so too did the presence of the wolf-hawk who Synric could feel staring straight into him. He should move, make some attempt to check on the wolf-hawk as he had agreed. Yet…

               He mean’s ‘in spirit’ literally.

Death.

He is your father.

Dead.

               Father? Synric shook his head. It was best not to think about it as Mey had remarked. Best not to think about it too hard. He agreed. He wouldn’t, he would push himself off the tree and look over the wolf-hawk and….

               Synric felt a tickle on his cheek, up to swat whatever it was, he froze when he felt and saw the water droplet on his finger. An image wanted to come to his mind. He could practically see it; so strong the emotion was that it refused to follow the routine of what had been happening. There were lines forming in the darkness and if he could just reach out….

               A pain fiercely gripped at his heart and Synric fell to his knees gasping for breath. The pain surged from his heart, wrapping around his chest, pulling him in, squeezing. A soft whine came beside him. Synric ignored the whine, focusing on his breathing, watching as heavy tears fell from his cheeks and disappeared into the grass under his knees.

               The squeezing began to subside after a short time, though it felt like long minutes. Weak, and his heart racing, Synric collapsed against the grass as the whine that turned into a snort was soon followed by the warmth of the wolf-hawk wrapping around him.  The tears kept running, the emotion undeniable. There was something terrible in those lost memories, terrible enough to leave a lingering connection so strong it affected him physical.

               Synric closed his eyes. Yes, it was better not to think about it too hard.  

[thefracturedmosaic]

Truths Within (2/4)

Part 1 Family Reunion

Part 2 Truths Within

Part 3 Refugee Meetings

Part 4 Doctor’s Memories

In the gentle pull of the night breeze, Nairus stared down into the shimmering water. The distant cries and constant noise of the city was gone, too far away to be heard, too far away to be felt, yet the small settlement of farms just beyond the forest’s tree never gave him a sense of isolation as he wanted.

Though the moon was only a crescent of its former glory, it was bright enough that he could see the lines of his own body being reflected back like dark shadows. The sounds of the night time critters had been quiet for sometime, leaving only a blank silence, that was welcoming and reassuring. 

It was the only time he could clearly think, too let down the walls he instinctively build up when people were around; those walls protected him from the scorn of love ones coming to view their dying family member, the pleading eyes of the dying as he lied to them about being able to help only to ease them to their death so it felt like nothing but sleep til their own bodies gave way. He needed to shun and lose all sense of who he was leaving only what was important and logical for diagnoses and understanding. He needed those walls when the trauma of the wounded would shout and curse and blame him. Trauma… Was that the reason for his memory issue? The magic’s ritual had done something to seal his memories of the time away, but now if it was no longer there as his sister had led him to believe, then what was keeping those memories from resurfacing? 

Nairus closed his eyes as he looked away from the water surface and faced the trees and their shifting leaves. 

Walls. He didn’t want to remember. Too much pain for his mind to take on its own. Maybe he should go see a doctor to help him. 

A silent breeze passed by, brushing back his robes into the rock he sat upon, exposing his feet to its cold touch. 

Even if he saw a doctor, he already knew what the process would be, he could do it on his own.

Silently the breeze returned, putting his robes back neatly in the grass so it covered his feet once more.  

If he was his own patient, he would recommend a specialist. 

But that will get me discharged. And where could I work where my father and his many friends wouldn’t be able to watch me and report back every little thing I do? 

 There was a few ticks of silence. 

I could just start my own business. But with what money? 

Some time passed, and Nairus found himself staring back at the water's reflection. During those bits of silence, he found himself wandering back to the red-headed man. What had he called himself? Madivh? His eyes closed at the name, feeling that familiar pull, but where curtains should have pulled back slowly, he could easily picture a face to that name. A different face, yet the eyes and hair were the same. His mind stuttered with sudden realization. A memory so faded that he could not bring anything to mind except the two names his sister had mentioned. Neia and Savian.

That man was connected to those two people, he knew it deep down inside, like he had known Mey was not lying about the boy, Synric, who he had been taking care of until he had been stabbed. 

Nairus’s hand drifted to his stomach. Even though months had passed since then, he could still feel the slide of metal cutting through him as easily a knife through butter, and the man’s maniacal grin; it sent a cold shiver through his spine, and the forest seemed to retreat from him and the wind began to settle leaving the air heavy and cold.

Be silent. He thought towards himself and forced a deep long breath. Slowly, he began to unclench his tight fingers and let his arms lay back in his lap. 

A sigh long and heavy escaped him.

Faint tweeting from small birds began to pierce the night air, and as Nairus raised his gaze to the sky, he could see the touch of deep purple. Again, he took in a deep breath and began lifting those walls he had carefully pulled down beforehand in his solitude. He didn’t need them all up yet, but he needed just a  few to get him moving enough. As the chirping began to increase all around him, Nairus finally pushed himself up and began moving towards the treeline fading into the shadows of the trees and allowing them to consume him. 

[neiablackwood]

Conversation

Mentions: @savianblackwood​ @synric-silversong​

Sanas eyed the naked girl with a bit of disappointment. “I tried to warn you,” he said as he turned away and walked towards the bathroom. Within he found a small closet that had a stack of large towels. He picked one and made his way back out into the hallway where she laid. Laying the towel on her as a protective layer against him and the grim she had collected on her fall before proceeding to tie the towel around her; it wasn’t the best, the towel was shorter than her, of course, but at least he didn’t need to touch her and she wasn’t showing everything off anymore.

Sanas glanced back towards his work hanging from the ceiling fan. Richard was already dead before he tied him up there, he wasn’t heartless, but it looked gruesome and unnecessary. And it set up his story well.  

This job perhaps had to have been the longest he had worked in a while. Richard had been a careful and paranoid man. Normally paranoid made it easy, but the careful nature did not. Nonetheless, the job was done, thanks to this women. Even if his original story was twisted right at the last second. Now back through the bedroom door, the dead body guard had a knife wound in the front, the wrestling match inside would tell a story of an argument gone wrong even though it was a mix of this girl's frantic attempt at escape and a little of his own tossing things around. Back in the living room, the dead body of the second guard laid in the chair looking up at Richard’s body. A pistol set in the guards hand, and a gunshot wound to his head; Sanas used a little magic to conceal the other wound, even if they thought about disenchanting any illusion spells, the wound was a small pin prick of poison. He doubted they would check anything in the blood. 

Everything was set as good as it could be for last minute changes. Not perfect, as he liked, there were small things that couldn’t be explained away, but what he heard as he finished off Richard in the hallway and the wave of shadow magic that rolled through him prickling his skin, he felt there was something special about this woman.

His gaze shifted down to the weight in his arm. Though, it wasn’t too late to reset the scene. She was passed out, she wouldn’t even realize she was dead; it would be a peaceful passing. 

It would be a more solid story if the girl was involved.

Sanas weighed his thoughts. The desire to turn and walk back into the bedroom was a simple movement right. An easy simple movement. The story would be soundproof. No need to worry about his own movements or keeping her alive and her movements. Richard knew this woman, and they had openly fought earlier in the harbor. How could he explain her sudden disappearance? Leaving her alive would only create more questions. Taking her with him would cause a different set of questions. Killing her gave him the story he really wanted and no one would think foul play. 

But the way Steve was crumpled on the floor, the wave of magic he felt, the way she had held herself together even as she burst through the bathroom door screaming and naked. She was different, he could tell. He wanted her. 

But the story?

Sanas rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He let the shadows conceal him and her and he walked towards the broken front door. 

Sunlight filled the room in its deep yellow glow reflecting off the wooden walls like it might be a beautiful summer day with flowers and green grass and the sound of….

Neia flew from the bed and up on her feet.

Where was Richard? The flashes of his hanging body sent a tightness in her stomach. 

Where was she? What had happened? Her gaze lingered on the walls that were different, the floor that was different, the shape of the room that was different. A log cabin? 

“I see you're awake, at last.” The voice tickled memories, and no good memories. Yet there was no one in the room, only a single chair, a small table, the bed?

She spun around but the bed was empty as well. She didn’t realize that she was stepping away until she touched the wall. Where did the voice come from? Was she going crazy? 

Her eyes strayed down the wall to spy a few different doors. She didn’t need to look hard for the one door that lead outside; it had two windows with a clear view of the outside beside it. She tensed for a moment, then bolted.

Three steps into her run and the elf materialized in front of the door. Neia stopped in her sprint, staring wildly and feeling the urge of madness more than fear. She really wanted to keep charging and ram this elf in the gut, bust through the door, and keep running. 

But fear won out, the memory of his dagger settling in, and what he had done to Richard. 

“Mmmm, that’s a good look for you. Why didn’t you wear that the entire time?” The Elf grinned, chuckled and stayed exactly where he was. As she remained silent, he arched an eyebrow and motioned towards her. “Did you forget you were naked? Normally women usually will grab the blan—”

She scowled, “Why am I here?” 

The elf’s eyes widened in surprise before his amusement took its place. “Because you intrigue me.” He smiled, showing off a few canine teeth. “And as much as I would like to delve into this topic at hand, one question,” his eyes trailed downwards along her body before looking back up. “Why don’t you care that you're naked in front of a stranger?” 

Neia scoffed, straightened out, and glared at him. “Why does it matter to you? And what clothes do I have to make myself not? Let me out the front door if it annoys you.” 

The elf’s intrigue held. “I see all you needed was rest to reset your mind on the pecking order,” The elf sighed. “Or you simply aren’t afraid of elves as much as humans?” His eyebrow perked with the idea. 

She frowned at him. “If you don’t want to talk to me as I am, then where are some clothes?” 

“Finally, a good question.” He motioned towards the wall on her right. 

She didn’t look, afraid that if she did he would lunge at her, take advantage and do whatever he claimed he wasn’t trying to do right now. 

Which was what? Her mind teased.

So as the silence stretched on for a handful of breaths longer, the elf leaned back against the door, his arms crossing, and he let out a deep, easy sigh. He did look away staring towards one of the windows. 

Reluctantly Neia looked to the wall he motioned too, a quick look, and saw a door. She looked back in a second, the elf hadn’t moved, hadn’t even turned to look at her.

Silence filled the air so quiet that she could hear her heartbeat racing. He had no plans on moving it seemed.

She adjusted her weight. He didn’t respond, but she saw a twitch of his ears. She took a step back. His gaze shifted just enough to see her in easy sights. Finally she took a step away, and when he didn’t twitch a muscle, she retreated towards the door, slid through a crack, and shut it tight.  

She heard nothing, not even the faintest movement or breath.

Neia took in a deep lungful of air and switched the light on.

She was in a small bathroom. A set of clothes sat on the sink, a towel next to them, folded and neatly arranged. There was no mirror for her to look in, yet as she reached out to pick up the clothes, she noticed dried red flakes on her arm.

Her body stop moving. She could not remember getting paint on her arm. She reached out with her other arm to clear it off, but when it didn’t peel like paint her head spun. 

Blood. It was blood. Blood from the floor she had fallen on when she tried running away. She tried not thinking whose blood it was, but it didn’t stop her from seeing Richard's body. Her vision dimmed along the edges of her sight and she felt her knees wobble. She reached out to support herself on the sink, deep, quick breaths came, and her stomach rolled.

She was going to vomit, she was…

“I’d recommend a shower first before you get dressed.” His voice drew away the blackness as she looked up to the door. The sink was above her now and her legs folded on the floor. Her body was shaking and she hugged herself to try and still the movements; it seemed to make it worse. 

The elf said nothing. She said nothing. Then his footsteps walked away, and then the creak of a wooden chair sounded as he sat down.  

Neia remained on the floor quietly, listening to nothing for a while. 

When the shaking seemed to stop and her head was no longer swimming, she took in a deep breath and compelled herself up to her feet. Legs still wobbly, she found her strength and made it over to the shower and turned the knob on.

The sound of the water rushing out almost made her burst into tears. Had this been a nightmare all along? Had everything that had happened been a dream? 

If she was home, she would have given the weight of those thoughts more time but the elf was outside the door and this wasn’t her bathroom. 

Tentatively she stepped in and stifled a sob as the water struck her skin. What was going on? Why was she here? Her thoughts spun and if there hadn’t been a stranger close-by she would have sobbed until there were no more tears to spend.

Neia stayed in the shower until the hot water came out cold and she could no longer turn it up any higher. Even then, she stayed longer letting the cold seep deep into her bones, preferring this discomfort over what would happen once she stepped outside. 

Alas, she eventually turned the water off, dried herself and dressed in what the elf had provided which was a simple linen shirt and pants of brown; she looked like a poor person from the streets, she didn’t need to see that in the mirror. 

Neia walked up to the door and reached out for the knob. The cold touch of the metal handle stilled her. She listened beyond the door but could hear nothing. Her sense of smell picked up a faint aroma of some kind of food, but she didn’t feel the knot of hunger like she should have. If the elf was beyond the door, he made no sound.

She took in a deep breath, steadied herself, and opened the door.

It was darker now than it was before; lamps had been lit bringing out a cozy warmth of light to the small place. Sunlight beyond the windows was barely holding out, but that was a familiar sight, and one she knew the sun wouldn’t be winning for much longer. 

The more important thing though was the elf wasn’t around. 

Expecting to see him and  now not,  she felt unsure of what to do. Was she supposed to stay? Leave? Would he hunt her down if she did? Should she stay and wait? 

No, she should leave. Leave all of this behind. She gave another look around just in case. It wasn’t a big space but he had the bed in the far corner away from the front door; a rug and a cushioned chair in front of a fireplace that was dim and dark; a sink and several cabinets along with a stove on the other side with a table and two chairs and a small rug there. 

But no elf. She was certain he wasn’t here. 

So she straightened herself up and proceeded to walk straight to the door. 

Each step she took felt like ten and when she reached the door and set her fingers on the knob and it twisted, iit clicked and pulled open. She cracked it open and the smell of forest and pond water struck her along with a breeze that almost made her cry with happiness.

She was alive.

Neia stepped out beyond the log cabin, feeling the grass between her toes and stared straight to a sky beginning to show the first signs of twilight. 

Freedom. 

Neia looked back forward. There was only tall grass, bushes, and trees. No road, not even a dirt path. She huffed. He brought her here, so there was a way out. 

It was strange to be in a forest again, she realized as she walked towards the treeline, careful to listen for any unusual sounds. She half expected to see her other brother, Synric, to appear out of the growing shadows. Of course, she knew he wouldn’t be.  A stranger had brought her here, wherever she was, it looked like it might be Elwynn.

A stranger that had helped the man that had tried to kill her, her thoughts voiced. 

Her stride faltered.

Praise be. Kill her. Richard had tried to kill her!

Neia felt sick again, and the world danced briefly as she reached out and found the bark of a tree to support herself.

Focus, she said to herself. Focus. But her quick and uneven breaths signaled a familiar feeling for her. She closed her eyes and started counting backwards. She could practically hear Nairus' voice reaching out to her telling her what to do. Focus. 

The dizziness soon faded and she was easily breathing again. Her eyes opened and found a prick of that panic return. Whatever little sunlight that was left was gone now. There was only a thin line where her vision could make out a decent path ahead but the further she looked out, it was simply dark and grey. Neia pushed off the tree and started jogging. She jogged about ten strides, confident in her footing, before turning it into a run. She ran until her chest began heaving, and then pushed beyond that until her breath grew shaky and quick. She slowed and came to a stop, leaning up against a tree as she stole in deep breaths. A glance back behind revealed no cabin, but ahead? 

She could see only shadows. Above she could only make out the stars and a faint thin light from the moon. 

A shiver rippled through her body and she pressed forward, at a slower rate. 

“You really do have a death wish don’t you girl?” His voice sang like a night bird in the trees. Neia jumped three feet in the air and spun to her right. She could see two silver lights amongst the shadows, and then the shadow detached itself from a tree, stepping into better sight.

The elf was no longer dressed in his jacket and jeans he had been in earlier, but now a simple deep green woolen shirt that was tucked into deep blue pants. No weapons to be seen. “Of course when I leave for just a moment you decide to come rushing out of the bathroom for freedom. Not even sticking around to say good-bye huh?”

Neia frowned at him, took two steps back for good measure. She was relieved he didn’t press forward. “What do you want?”

“A conversation.”

The bluntness chased away her thoughts. The first wave of night bugs sung in her silence. A–A conversation? “My brother is looking for me and he works for the newspaper, so he’ll be able to find me.” The confidence in her voice was non existence, she was surprised she managed to say that without stuttering.

“Seems time in the shower reset your mind back to being a damsel in distress.” He stopped for a second before laughing; it wasn’t a pleasant laugh to hear, but it was easy and short, and non-threatening. “First things first kid, we need to talk about what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” was her immediate retort. Her lips shut tight though realizing she had spoken without thinking. 

The crickets chirped. 

The elf laughed once more. “I applaud your remark.” He said easily. “But we still need to have a conversation. We can do this one of two ways. You can keep running and hope that Elune blesses you enough to save you from my daggers..” A string of silence came as the weight of his words settled, and she felt her heart fall deep into her stomach. “Or,” he gestured back the way she had come. “You come willingly, we have some dinner, and you can try to sway me with your words and sell me on why you should stay alive.” She couldn’t see it, but she heard the wide grin on his face.

It made her frown, even against the fear, even against the scream in her head begging to be heard. She refused to listen, because she knew it said to run.

The silence stretched again, her eyes shifting towards the freedom of the trees as her mind rationalized that running was clearly a false lure, Elune wouldn’t bless her. She was no follower. She looked back towards him, managed to straighten herself out to look even towards the silver of his eyes. “Why did you kill him?”

A soft hum of curiosity escaped the elf. “He was a target.” His voice was casual. “Nothing more to it. Have you decided on your choice then?” 

Her gaze faltered, taking in the grass beneath their feet. She nodded, turned, and began walking back the way she had come from. 

The cabin was still as warm and welcoming as she had left it; the smell of food set her stomach to rumble. The elf walked in after her, closing the door, and to her relief did not lock it. He walked and went over to a pot that was sitting on the stove.

Soup. 

Now that her mind was settling, though panic was sitting on the edges ready to take back over when needed, she recognized the smell of vegetables and chicken. 

She hadn’t eaten all day. 

Neia shook her head. No, she needed to focus. Though she was certain Savian would look for her, there was no way he would find her out in Elwynn. Why would she even be in Elwynn? She never liked the forest, hadn’t since that time….

Her features grew dark, and she felt her mind closing. 

Neia took a deep breath. Focus. He still might kill you, remember.

“Are you going to stand there by the door all night?” Neia looked up from the wooden floors not realizing she had looked down. The elf was sitting at the table, a bowl in front of him, a bowl in front of an empty chair. When she met his gaze, he motioned to the other side of the table. 

“If you thought I was joking about dinner, I wasn’t. I’m giving you a fair trial here child.” He added with a smile as she moved to sit down. “Eat so we can have a civilized conversation.” 

She didn’t eat. She didn’t move for the spoon. She simply stared at him, taking in the sharp features of his face, the deep purple hair tied into a short ponytail, the tattoos on his neck, and the the scar she hadn’t noticed that was sitting on the edge of his jaw trailing down over one of those tattoos; Nairus had explained those types of injuries most people didn’t survive unless a healer was nearby. 

He returned her stare briefly before deciding she wasn’t interesting enough and started eating. 

She looked down at the soup, watched him take a few more bites, and each time he looked back, he looked somewhere else in the room. Never at her.  It was odd, and it reminded her swiftly of their earlier experience with the door and how he waited for her to speak or move to the bathroom. He hadn’t looked at her then either. So was he waiting? 

The bowl in front of her drew her gaze. The smell sent a ripple of hunger through her stomach. Slowly her shoulders relaxed and then she picked up the spoon.

Her mouth watered with the first taste, and though she tried to act like it wasn’t all that good, she was quick to get another spoonful. Quicker still on the third. 

The elf said nothing as she was devouring the meal, she hadn’t even noticed he had stopped eating as he was casually watching her from the side. 

“Feel better?” his voice sung. 

She stopped then, realizing then there was only three spoonfuls left. A wave of embarrassment struck as she kept her gaze down, left the spoon in the bowl, and let her hands slide into her lap. 

He shifted then, uncrossing his one leg that had been resting on his knee to face her directly and set his chin on his laced fingers. “Neia right,” he smiled.

She frowned.

He held back the grin that ticked at his lips. “Do you remember what happened in the bedroom after Richard left you with that man?” 

She held her frown, looked away. The memory tickled of that burly man's hands wrapping around her neck, then the vision came back to her, and then of their twisted views and his voice asking what she had done. 

“Looks like it.” He took in a deep breath as he leaned away from her and set an arm on the back of his chair. She looked at him. “Tell me about it.” He demanded. 

“Why does it matter?”

The elf let a grin ease on his face, but she recognized it for what it was, a warning. Before he spoke, he leaned back towards the table and rested his chin once more on his fingers. “I’ll be fair with you, I don’t normally do this. I usually just kill all loose threads even if I decide they aren’t beneficial to my story. Normally when I decide that, their bodies aren’t ever found.” His voice eased from casual conversation to a slow melodic tone and ending in a sharp deep scowl, if a voice could scowl without the lips following. Nonetheless, her body went cold on his last words. 

Her eyes darted away from him, towards the cushioned chair by the unlit fireplace. 

He didn’t speak further though, allowing the silence to fill once again. There were no crickets though to fill in that silence, just the tense pressure of unease from herself. Slowly she looked back at him, he was still watching her, and hadn't moved from his prior position. 

He wanted something, so she said, “I understand.” 

He smiled, and his entire body relaxed into a familiar stature. She hadn’t even realized he had tensed. When had he done that? When he was speaking? He spoke, “Good, so tell me what happened.” 

She nodded. “Richard said to finish it, and he pushed me on the bed and…”

“He?” The elf interrupted. 

“The guy, I don’t know his name.” The lie was so easy that she tricked herself. It was only after she spoke the words his name came back. Steve. 

The elf paused briefly before nodding. 

“He choked me. The next thing I knew, I was gasping for breath, and I heard his voice, but I don’t know what he said as I scrambled off the bed to the bathroom.” 

The elf studied her. She never broke eye contact. Slowly, he gave a nod and he leaned back again against his chair again, looking away from her.

She never felt so relieved, and as her body relaxed, she felt her legs trembling and her hands shaking. She tried covering it up, setting a hand on top of her other, but it did no good. 

“You have potential.” He said at last. “Not many have a natural talent for this kind of work under pressure, and let's put it this way,” his eyes shifted sharply towards her. Her shaking stopped, but so did all of her other movements. “I wouldn’t mind the extra help.” His smile was bright. “You need the coin don’t you?” 

She refused to answer, and this time as the silence stretched she could see the impatience in his eyes. He shifted towards her again, leaning inwards. “You don’t need to play coy,” His voice was gentle. “I saw the way you reacted to those coins flying in the air.” Then his hands lifted from the table and in their place was a gold coin and several silvers. She felt her heart beat faster with excitement, and she restrained herself from moving towards them. 

He was smiling at her still. “Your payment for today's work.” He leaned back and away leaving the coin’s in easy reach.

She frowned at him, the thoughts racing through her mind that those were her coins she won fair and square earlier, but she kept those to herself. “Also it's my  promise that each job you do, you get a gold coin from me. The more you impress, the more coins you win.” His smile brightened. “Sound like a deal?”

A deal? His words finally struck from earlier. Extra help? She felt her face pale. Help as in seeing more dead bodies and blood and…

The elf's easy features vanished into a look of worry and quick uncertainty for himself, not her. “You aren’t going to pass out on me again are you?”

She closed her eyes. The world was spinning. She swallowed dryly and as the vertigo began to slow she opened her eyes once more. The elf was still watching, waiting for something. “I-I never…” she felt faint.

“Doesn’t matter.” The elf said. “This is my proposition. I could let you go.” He paused briefly as he gave some consideration to his words, then started up again. “I won’t be coy with you. I’ll tell you what will happen. If you don’t agree, I’ll kill you now, save myself some trouble. However, if you agree and continue to remain an asset, you get to live.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Do you see what I’m saying, or are you too light headed to think straight?” 

She shook her head. “What stops me from just telling the guards even if I agree to this deal?” 

The elf smiled brightly. “You think a handful of fifty year old humans will be able to do anything? I will kill you if you disappoint me. You will die. Maybe I’ll take your brother out too just before I do it.” He chuckled softly. “Just in case you tell him without me realizing it. Safer that way. Get all the loose ends.” 

She felt her blood go cold. Savian? 

“I didn’t do anything. Why can’t we agree I just won’t say anything. That nothing happened today?” 

The elf took in a deep breath, leaning back into his chair. “Because child, Richard left a trail. He went to see that friend of yours in the inn. He made a scene at the harbor where all those people saw the fight. Witnesses can place you with him all the way up to that building.” He huffed amusingly as his eyes laid on her. “See where this is going?” 

Her voice came out distantly and toneless. “And I’m still alive, and I wasn’t there when the bodies were found.” 

He nodded. “And no one saw you leave. Smart. See, keep doing that and you earn my favor.” He laughed whole-heartly this time. 

She felt sick. How had this happen? What did she do to end up here?

He spoke again. “So are we at an understanding now?” 

She didn’t answer, and was too afraid too. It was like signing a pact with a demon. But what other choice did she have? 

Neia slowly nodded.

“I want to hear it from you. Your words.” 

She looked back at him. His smile was gone and his eyes were expecting.

She took a deep breath. “I work for you, and in return I keep my life.” 

His smile was cruel this time around and he leaned slightly in towards her as he whispered, “And the most important part, you get your coin.” He slid the coins over to her now within an inch of her fingers. She reached out and took the heavy metal and slid it into her lap.

“Perfect, now, what I’m going to recommend to you is to find the first portal to Kul’tiras, hang out there for a while as the heat dies down. I’ll handle this misunderstanding about a young black hair woman working a stall in the harbor, and when you come back, let's say, half a year from now, we'll start our partnership. Sound good?” 

“H-half a year!” She blurted out.

He nodded. “It's not very long for our lifespan is it? A simple moment.”

But what about her brother? Her credentials for her stall? Her job?

You have no choice. Her voice cooed at her internally. Agree or be killed now. 

Neia nodded.

“Perfect, and just to verify, I’ll deliver whatever letter to your brother to make sure he understands that you're taking a break from the city. I’ve got some paper and ink, so let's work out together why, realistically, you would take this vacation.” 

It wasn’t hard to figure that part out. Nairus. If she could find Nairus, even now, he probably know what to do about this. So as the elf got up and grabbed the paper and ink, she didn’t hesitate to start writing as he looked over her shoulder. 

The letter was several paragraphs explaining how she had overheard a man talking about a druid healer in Kul’tiras matching Nairus name and description, and she didn’t have time to find and talk to him about it. The man was leaving that day and he was willing to give her a free ride. Details later when she arrived at the city and would send another letter. 

This could be Nairus, she wrote with a heavy hand, she was going to go and investigate. 

[scifiseries]

New commisioned art for my upcoming 3rd book. Depicts my main character Clain falling from a skyscraper after an epic battle with a vicious android called Synric. Reality begins to blur as Clain sees another dimension within his reflection. Artist was u/ziireaux who is a pleasure to work with 🙏

[selisekinsolving]

The sun was just breaking past the rooftops of Dwarven District, casting its first rays of the day onto the cold cobblestones. No patients were scheduled for another hour and Selise was not letting the extra time go to waste. A forgotten mug of tea sat on the shelf outside of her personal lab. The doctor was already bent over her microscope and notebook, not even the chimes from the front door caused her to move. Only a few people had a key to get in this early and by now she and Cherysa had a pretty standard opening routine.

"Morning, Cherysa." She called from the back room.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, three loud knocks sounded on the front door. Selise pulled her pocket watch and frowned. "Unless it's an emergency, tell them to come back in an hour." With that, she turned back to her work.

Cherysa returned the Doc’s greeting with her own cheerful “Morning!” The red head set the book she’d borrowed from Selise’s library on her desk and began doffing her coat to hang up when the knocks sounded. Selise’s instructions had her nodding as she called back “Right” and moving to the door. She opened it a crack and peered out. “I’m sorry we open in an hour,” she stated as kindly as she could while looking to ascertain if it was in fact an emergency.

Two men stood on the stoop, both in full Stormwind Guard armor. The one that spoke had his helm tucked under his arm.

"We understand ma'am, but we have some questions that might be better asked before your customers arrive. May we come in?"

The guard behind him leaned forward and muttered something which had the speaker nodding. He looked back to Cherysa with an even gaze.

Cherysa’s smile stayed in place and she ushered the guard into the waiting room. “Oh, I...of course officers. If you will wait here I’ll get the Doc.” Chery closed the door behind the two men and with a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure they stayed in the waiting area hurried back to where she knew the doc was working. 

“Doc, there’s two guards here say they have questions better to be answered before we open.” She said it in a breathy rush as she came into the lab. “They are in the waiting room.”

Selise rose her head at the sound of footsteps, some annoyance building in the back of her mind as she imagined what supposed emergency might be coming through the door. She was already on her feet when Chery entered the room.

"They do, hm? Come on." Curiosity had replaced her annoyance by the time they stood in front of the two men.

"Doctor Graves, pardon the early visit. My name is Specialist Graham and this is Private Rell." He motioned to the man that had yet to remove his helmet.

Sel glanced briefly at Rell and nodded. "We've met. My assistant, Cherysa Amberstill." She motioned at Chery. "What is so pressing that it couldn't wait until office hours?"

Graham began to unroll a sheet of parchment and turn it towards the two women as he spoke. "This man is wanted for investigation. We have information that one or both of you have had contact with him in this office. When was the last time you saw him?" He settled his gaze on Cherysa as he finished speaking.

The document he held out was a wanted poster with a drawing of a hooded man, identified as Ronan, followed by a list of notes on his appearance: Kaldorei, amber eyes, armed and dangerous, bow and arrow, curved elvish sword, accompanied by a golden dragon hatchling, last seen in the harbor flying towards mountains.

'Wanted for murder' was printed directly under the man's sketch.

Cherysa stepped closer to look at the document shaking her head even as she looked over the document, the description in her mind could fit any number of Kaldorei she'd met in the city but the dragon hatchling she thought would be memorable. Her gaze turned up to Graham, "No sir, I think I would remember someone like that. I have not seen him."  

Graham watched Cherysa calmly as she answered and merely nodded.

You could step outside and throw a rock and hit a hooded figure matching the drawing. It took Selise reading the description for something to click. She sighed.

"Yes, he was here as a patient, but that was about...three years ago now. I haven't seen him since," she replied. "And before you ask," she interjected as she saw Graham move to reply, "No, I can't give you details about the visit."

It was the Private that spoke up this time. "Maybe you could come down to command and speak with the Unit leader." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "They might remind you of your contract."

Selise shook her head. "My answer to them would be the same." She gave Cherysa a brief look. "We will not be releasing patient records unless ordered to do so by a Magistrate."

Graham looked between the two women. "When the situation calls for such, we will be back. In the meantime, should you see him or learn anything else, you will report it to the authorities." He inclined his head ever so slightly and saw himself and the Private out of the office.

Cherysa frowned as she moved to relock the door. Her gaze met Selise's as she turned, "Do you think they will come back for the file?"

"If they get the proper documentation, then yes." She shook her head and moved back to her desk. Where was her tea? Selise glanced towards the hallway briefly. "Don't worry about it. If they come back, just tell them they have to talk to me because you can't get into the files."

"Understood. They seemed pretty serious, I hope it doesn't come to that though." She sighed and moved to begin getting the office ready for the day. "Anything you need special for today?"

"I'm glad they're taking it seriously; someone was murdered. I find it a bit hard to believe from him, but...something happened. Rell isn't stupid, he'll help get to the bottom of it. I just hope his superiors listen to him." It took her a moment to realize there was a question in there. "Hm? No, nothing special. Another routine day, hopefully." She smiled.

Written with @cherysaamberstill

@synric-silversong @kaelenar

[dhysis-screens]

Synric - Skyrim

[faelynnmistwhisper]

Faelynn let the magic take her away from the settlement before too many of the curious spectators could try and corner her for information. What she knew was left in the capable hands of the Sentinels. As the injured party, they were the ones who would ultimately decide the woman’s fate.

And if it’s too severe?

The highborne woman didn’t spare a frown for the thought. At first, Faelynn had let her concern for Talren and Synric sway her opinion on the woman’s true identity, but now she recognized her for what she was: a fraud. Kal’sin was mistaken, either effected by grief as she had been or sensing trace magic, and now he was in jeopardy of being captured as well.

Deadwind terrain was very much less preferable than the lush undergrowth of Feralas, but she didn’t plan to stay here long. Under the effects of the invisibility potion, her surrounding blurred in strange patterns unless she stayed still. So upon returning to the mouth of the cave, it took her a moment to take stock of the situation.

Of course there was no longer a large dragon guarding the entrance. The question was whether he had been captured or not. She let her mind clear as she reached out with her senses for any traces of magic. A slight prickling sensation up her arms told her that she wasn’t too far off track.

Up in the rocks she could see a faint glimmer of gold slowly edging its way towards the top of the entrance. Faelynn stepped forward and teleported up into the rocks with a quick burst of arcane magic. She stooped down to where Kal’sin had been headed.

“If they get you too, Synric’s really going to be in trouble,” she whispered. “Come now. This area is too hot.” Glowing silver eyes gave the dragon a knowing look as she offered out a pale hand to the creature.

@synric-silversong​

[kylewilmont]

🏹-synric (how could I not)

“Gods damnit!”  Kyle yelled, “Don’t any of ye know how t’ hit a target?! It’s right in front o’ yer bloody faces!”  Arrows lay all over the stretch of green between the hay bales where the archers perched and the targets themselves.  Some stuck bristling out of the fence behind the targets, and all Kyle could do was simply be grateful they had hit even that.  The old soldier continued his march up and down the line of young recruits, hands clasped behind his back. “Draw!”  He said, barking the command and timing the cadence of his calls to the number of steps he took.

“Aim!” Kyle yelled, face red with exhertion.  One of the boys jerked suddenly as the one beside him decided his space was being encrouched upon and elbowed the other for more room.  The elbowed boy let the arrow lose, so surprised was he, that he hadn’t been watching where he fired!  “Lo---”  A few were obeying the order as soon as they syllable left his lips, but as the word went unfinished, many pairs of eyes turned toward the huge man.

Kyle’s wide eyed and obviously pain-filled gaze met with that of the half elf, though the boy could stare at nothing but the arrow protruding from the man’s meaty thigh.  “Yer...” Kyle roared, “Dismissed!”, then motioned for one of the other instructors to take his place so he could pay a visit to the infirmary, spitting curses that more than a few of the recruits had never heard before and tried hard to remember.  

[risrielthron]

@synric-silversong

[synric-silversong]

Understanding Pride

Part 1- Limitations

Part 2- Challenges

Part 3- Faellyn’s Gift

Part 4- Understanding Pride

Two weeks passed and in that time, Synric managed to carve his teleportation rune, gave it a test run, and then was over the wall using the rest of his time getting himself lost. Walls were strangely taller, harder to see over and too climb. Passageways seemed to zig-zag and run up and down, broken in many sections requiring magic to jump or better equipment he simply did not have and could not get with the amount of coins he had. 

Beyond those problems, he still had the ogres to attend too. Not only were they more numerous, many of them called some of these buildings homes, there were ones specialized in magic and others in armor. Synric ran into several patrols that chased him without question, and no matter what techniques he had picked up beforehand, he could never quite lose them. No matter how far away he got, or managed to slip back around, they always seemed to find him. He assumed magic had to be at play. When he finally did lose them, he was normally in a different section of the city that he had not seen before. Thus, he was lost once more. There were a few days he had to sleep in the old elf city. Luckily he never grew truly lost, the trees could always be seen when he climbed up, or as he learned the best way to navigate the city was when the sun was rising or setting. 

Kal’sin eventually intervened. A magi ogre found them, and managed to rily up all the ogres around the area. Synric tried his normal means, not knowing what else to do as he navigated straight to his teleportation rune, but they seemed to know his path getting before him before he cross into the next section. Half a day of running and still there was no escape; it was at that point the little dragon threw up his own magic. The ogres never stepped into their path again that day. 

It was at that point that Synric understood why the elder hunters of the village warned about going near the ruins. He understood the tone of uncertainty in Faellyn’s silent question of what he was doing out here. Then why was he so stupid beforehand to try and make this trek to the tower when he was a whole lot younger?

Two more weeks passed, and the routine was set with aggravation and stubborn pride. He tried new tricks and with a little focus, managed to draw some ogres away from their paths so he could slip by unnoticed. 

Half-way through the fourth week, as he began to make his way back to the ruins, he found a set of ogre tracks no further than a rocks throw from his camp; they had gotten awfully close. If it hadn’t been for his protection runes camouflaging the place, his camp would have probably been destroyed. Yet, with that thought, he felt unsettled by how far they had traveled; he wasn’t that far from the village, about a half-day's walk.  

He tried again that night, and had made little advance. At least, he wasn’t getting spotted anymore. Maybe once or twice a week. Still it took a while to move through the city. 

Come the next morning, he watched a pair of ogres walk practically on top of his camp. They were grumbling and muttering in their language, and paying little attention to what was actually around them. And thanks to his runes, they couldn’t see him unless they were really looking. 

The unease settled in him again, and that night he moved his camp across the river just to make certain they wouldn’t run across him while he slept.

The next night, Synric found himself sitting on top of one of the buildings on the other side of the wall. A new habit formed when he realized beating this city with brute strength wouldn’t be enough. He watched, as he normally did, to see how the patrols were working that night to avoid the magi ogres, when his ears twitched to ogre talk. 

His eyes shifted behind as two ogres stepped over the wall. Blood caked their weapons and part of their legs and hands. They had the corpses of three elves and a worgen being carried like a sack of potatoes back to their home.

Synric felt sick at the sight. Even knowing the ogres' culture didn't help his mind from not seeing that it might have been him being carried in their arms.

The ogres passed by, leaving him feeling entirely unsettled, unnerved, and shaking. Kal’sin worried touch was enough to have him move back to his teleportation rune and back into the forest.

The walk back was filled with ogres in shadows, heavy feet snapping bushes, and the howling of a axe coming through the tree branches.

 Synric rubbed at his eyes and forehead, using the water of the river to wake him up, to break him from his thoughts. The campfire was crackling and snapping and the runes were set up and ready. 

What am I doing? He thought taking in the silverlight of the stars in the gentle river. This is pointless. If I had the skills to do this, it wouldn’t be taking this long. Synric gazed down at the bracelet that Faellyn had given him; it was warm on his hands, the heat of energy, subconscious as it was, from the walk back. What am I missing? 

A faint noise from the tree’s snapping under weight spun Synric around and reaching for the dagger at his hip poised in ready to dodge more than strike. Yet, Kal’sin was stretched out by the fire, his tail twitching in easy comfort. 

The firelight reflected off a shadowy figure further away. The purple hue of an elf followed by glowing silver eyes.

The elf stepped into better view with a hand raised and his sword easy to spot resting at his hip.

He spoke in elvish. “Good Evening.”

Synric’s short pause was hurried with a shorter return statement. “Good Evening.”

The elf gave a smirk of a smile. “You’re a hunter from one of the villages?”

Synric eyed the man, his sword, the way his dialect seemed off compared to those in the village where he was staying. “There is one nearby.”

The man nodded. “We got word earlier tonight our scouting party was ambushed by ogres, way off the road from their normal sightings.”

Synric felt his blood run cold, and this thought replayed the sights of the three bodies across the ogres shoulders. Stunned, he didn’t notice the elf had paused for him to replay. Thus the man continued, cautiously. “Your campfire is easy to spot through the trees.”

He meant no offense, Synric realized. The elf thought him a seasoned hunter and was offering protection between the oddities of his words. 

Synric glanced at the fire, before turning to the elf. The elf didn’t know it was he that was causing the ruckus with the ogres. That the ogres had killed the band of elves because they were out looking for him. 

The sudden realization set his blood colder.

I never thought…

“Yes...yes!” Synric quickly gathered himself as he threw dirt into the fire, and his morning breakfast. 

He frowned afterwards. 

The moment's silence stretched as they were plunged in darkness. Kal’sin chirped an sadden cry. Slowly the stars twinkled into light above and shapes began to take form, especially those glowing eyes.

The elf made a soft sound. “I’m not sure why you are out here, but I’d recommend making your way out of the jungle as soon as you can. Until we can figure out why the ogres are all stirred up.” He sounded frustrated in the way that old soldiers sounded. 

I didn’t think…

“I apologize, t-thank you for the warning.” Synric dipped his head. “Perhaps, if you need any help?”

The elf shook his head. “We have scouts searching right now in case there are any survivors. Five men are missing from the group of eight.” He paused. “If you find any trace of them, you can find us over by Feathermoon.”

Feathermoon. Images of the small established settlement surrounded by water on a small island just off the coast came to mind. He had read it in his journals, it was at least a several day walk. They hadn’t come out here in passing. 

Wait five are missing? “I’m sorry to hear about your loss. I will keep an eye out. Was it a hired escort for merchants?”

The man shook his head. “I wish it was just that. Unfortunately, this is the fourth attack this week. The men missing are trained men, which is the cause of worry. ” He paused, his ears twitching in the distance; it had to be a faraway sound for all Synric could hear were crickets and the gentle movement of water from the stream behind. “I must leave. Keep my warning to heart.” He said as he turned and dashed into the shadows of the forest, disappearing into the darkness within three strides.

Kal’sin poked his head over the logs and gave a quick tongue flick; he could feel the little dragon's judgement towards him saying exactly what he knew. This was his fault for rallying up the ogres. They were looking for the intruder making it into their camp each night. And now they were desperate enough to start killing anyone.  

Synric sighed rubbing his face once more. “I suppose you're right,” he felt his heart sink deep into his chest. A promise broken with himself, shattering. “I don’t have the skills. I either need to know how to use magic or…” He stilled briefly as Mey’s clever use of moving around the house came to mind. How she seemingly disappeared and reappeared, and being seen only when she wanted to be seen. Even as alert as he was, that elf had managed to slip into his camp without any sound of warning. “...or know how to sneak around the streets.”

Kal’sin tongue flicked out again. A tad lull of concern washed over the little dragon, but not one that seemed to stem from danger, more, worry of what Synric was thinking.

Mey could teach him. If anything, perhaps, she could teach him how to use that shadow magic again. 

He shivered at the thought.

Or another useful spell that doesn’t dwell in that art. 

He gathered up his things and adjusted his knapsack over his shoulder as words from a letter slipped into his thoughts: “Faellyn knows how to contact me.”

Synric jogged his way through the forest canopy, brushing by plants and rocks with ease as he let his feet guide him back to the village.

[thefracturedmosaic]

Redridge Farms

Mentions: @divergent-lines​ @kaelenar​

Jacorek checked the house over. The windows were sealed, the doors locked, and there were no cracks or holes in the walls. He gave a single nod as he stepped out of the door, paused before fulling departing, and looked over his shoulder. A small smile couldn’t be kept from his lips. Synric was glaring at him from the table, hands still bound by the cuffs, but at least he looked somewhat normal now with a new white linen shirt and blue pants, and he was all washed up giving way to the clear lingering purple bruises.

Jacorek couldn’t help but remember their conversation when they first arrived at this house. It was located away from other people; a farm abandoned due to the orc invaders.

“This? You really think…” Synric had stopped, probably realizing that his chances of escape had gone up incredibly in his favor and didn’t want to ruin such a chance. 

“Here’s how it's going to go in the minds of our enemies.” Jacorek began as he shoved Synric in. The young man gave a huff as he stumbled forward.  “They failed to get you out. So they are expecting two things from me. One, I’m going to move from the hideout and go somewhere deeper and harder to find. Maybe with friends, maybe somewhere else entirely using magic and such to cover my tracks; either way its going to be difficult to find you. Or two, I’m going to reinforce the caves so that it's all but impossible to navigate without having a mind too where all the traps are, and even then you may not be in there! But man won’t it be a risk worth taking if you were and they cleared each trap?” He mused as he sat down his bag on the table, looking at the dirty and disheveled skinny young half elf. Synric was wearing a hood of course accompanied by a long jacket so it made him appear to be more a druid or possibly a tall monk. 

Jacorek had heard what had happened from Synric. How this odd man came in, blew up the runes by being ultimately foolish, and had practically knocked himself out. Synric had tried saving the man, but the man had turned violent on him and threatened to harm him. Too which, Synric said he couldn’t remember what he had done or said afterwards at least until Jacorek had shown up. 

The description of the man matched a familiar one he had seen with Mey, but if that was true, Mey was definitely playing a dangerous game, which also had him thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was going to betray him in the end.

He had a lot to think of and was finally excited to dump the boy here in this house.

“If it was me,” Synric began referring to his line of what his enemies would do.

Jacorek hushed him with a single wave of his fingers. “My offer still stands boy. Once Mey has brought me what I want, you’re free to leave.” He digged through his bag taking out portions of food and small canisters of water. 

Synric was silent. He always was for a few minutes whenever Mey’s name was mentioned. Then Synric shifted, eyes darting around the home. “So we are becoming roommates then?” He began slowly. 

Jacorek shook his head. “You will be living here. My base of operation will still be in that cave.” He hummed for a moment. “And don’t think you won’t be unguarded.” He said again drawing a chair and sitting in it, both feet came up on the table.

Syrnic eyes drew to his feet and the young man frowned. “How so?” 

“How so?” Jacorek mulled on the word. “Same way you were guarded beforehand.”

“Runes?” Synric quirked a sharp smile. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd if anyone shows up?”

The walk had done Synric good. At first he seemed nervous, uncertain, shying away from noises and such. Something that always occurred to captives stuck in a dark basement for a few months. But eventually he had returned to normal and the desire to escape had overcome him again. Jacorek had stopped him only once, beat him to the point that he was bruised and hurting enough that the next day’s walk was slower and had a lot more breaks.

Synric hadn’t tried to escape again.

And the people they did manage to pass by, Synric’s voice was silenced by the bounty of the half elf named Ronan, description and all.

Jacorek had assumed his enemies would hear those rumors, so several times he would misdirect these people and say he was traveling to Stormwind to turn in the bounty, going to Ironforge because it was close, or turning him into the nearest guard station until further notice.

He didn’t figure it was fool proof, so he had taken a deserted road through the canyons and horde territories and hadn’t reappeared on anyone's radar for days until he showed up alone in Stormwind.

Jacorek shrugged and rose to his feet. “I’d be surprised if someone did,” he said softly, “After all there are several orc camps nearby and most people ignore this route due to ambushes.”

There was a brief silence. “And what if they decide to meddle with your runes?”

Jacorek quirked an eyebrow. “Hopefully for you, they don’t, otherwise better pray I’m nearby.” He grinned madly before laughing. 

That had been the end of the conversation followed by a quick show of the house too which came with a mattress, running water, and stocks of food. The clothing and other essentials came later the next day.

A week had passed since then, and the routine had become ingrained. Jacorek checked his runes, Synric watched with a glare, and then he would leave. He would return to the caverns, warm the fire while walking along a different route in the caverns leaving breadcrumbs here and there for anyone deciding to show up again. Then he returned to Stormwind, as he always did even before he moved Synric, to view bounties and hear any callings for a mercenary looking for blood. Two or three days later, Jacorek returned to  find that the young man was still alive, sane, and surprisingly well cleaned. One time, he had actually walked in and he could hear the boy singing in the upper rooms where the sunlight was heaviest. His voice was soft, smooth, and elegant. A voice that would catch ears in a tavern and silent voices.

Jacorek slammed the door that day, shaking the whole house.

[neiablackwood]

If Only One Died

Part 1-- Madivh  

Part 2

Part 3- Synric

Part 4- Madivh

Featured: 

@thefracturedmosaic

@savianblackwood

@synric-silversong

 “Well I did my part, and still, silver locks hasn’t returned yet?”

           Neia snorted. “Be nice,” she said with a little whack to her brother’s shoulder, “We don’t need dad having another episode.”

           Savian scoffed, rolling his eyes in the process. “He has an episode every night, the man’s never sober.”

           Neia shook her head, setting a finger to her lips as she looked over her shoulder towards the huddle group of three. Two were resting, eyes closed, against the log with their butts on the ground, the last, a skinny looking man with a trench coat wrapped around him, was nodding his head back and forth.

           “If the old man can’t hear me, they can’t,” Savian said, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.

           Neia shook her head, yet nonetheless she smiled, just a little.

           The two stayed silent and close together afterwards, keeping to the shadows of the wetland trees more than the gap among trees. Their father was difficult to see against the tree he was leaning upon, and only when he swung his silver container to take a drink, did they catch that he was awake and had not moved.

           “I hate these dark nights,” Savian retorted. His bud was smoldering close to his fingers, his eyes were turned upwards. “You think its going to rain?”

           Neia followed his gaze were the moonlight was foggy between layers of clouds. “I can find out.”

           He snorted. Pushing the bud of his cigarette into the tree, he straightened out, “I give bright eyes a minute more before I call it a night.”

           Her lips began to turn downwards. “He’s always been right.”

           “Yeah, and its half-way through the night already. If its going to flood,” he hissed, “it would have by now.” With that, Savian walked his way through the spongy grass and disappeared into the shadows of the trees on the opposing side.

           Countless minutes passed afterwards. Neia sat down with the other’s, checked on the merchant, and after a short-whispered conversation, returned to silence were the wind blew the leaves lovingly, the air smelt of ocean salt, and the bugs buzzed loudly.

           “It’s all clear up on the hill,” Synric’s voice snapped her eyes open.

           Her father came of the shadows and into out a moment of pure moonlight where his bright red hair seemed to flare and his stance was strong. “Half a mile towards the hill, we will rest there ‘til the morning. Let’s go.” As the moonlight faded, Madivh’s hair seemed to smolder and the streaks of white along his sides and in his beard, accompanied by the wrinkles around his eyes, extinguished his glamour.

           The merchant rose and picked up his bags sluggishly and silently. Neia rose the two sleeping, and they rose with little enthusiasm.

           Synric had, once again, disappeared by the time they were moving. Her father had moved ahead, just a bare line through the darkness she could see. They passed Savian, his own sore mood seeming to have grown heavy in the small bit of time that had conceded, but he managed to lift his lips as they passed. Savian fell in behind, taking the rear and the responsibility of defense.

           It wasn’t a long walk before they could feel the land begin to rise, the ground below growing muddy, and the smell of dampness rising on the breeze. Neia was half tempted to turn around and grin at her brother, but truly, how would he see her if she could barely see a red hair man before her?

           So, she peeked over her shoulder, spying nothing but darkness, trees, and shrubs, and kept ushering the group ahead.

           They slipped and slide as they climbed the hill, but soon enough they found solid and dry dirt beneath their heels and managed to make the last climb to the top.

Synric and Madivh were already standing above, already discussing, already bickering. Based on how Synric’s eyes had narrowed and his lips had grown thin and his arms crossed and closed, he had lost the argument; their father had won, but barely it seemed for his hands had made it to his hips were his dagger laid partial hidden from easy eyes.

Madivh said nothing as the merchants passed, as Neia stopped. Synric dipped his head with a gentle smile, “I’m sorry,” he said as he looked from his sister to the escorts, “We will have to wait until morning for a hot meal.”

[synric-silversong]

Faellyn’s Gift

Part 1- Limitations

Part 2- Challenges

Part 3- Faellyn’s Gift

Part 4- Understanding Pride

The walk back was a mix of waiting for ogres to walk by and limping his way through the tangled mess of the undergrowth. Not once did it occur to Synric that it was odd the ogres had ventured a little further into the jungle, a little more heavily armed, a little more alert, nor did it matter. The jungle was familiar to him and it was easier to sit and wait for ogres to pass than it was to hide behind buildings and keep an eye on them; it was difficult to explain, but it was similar to knowing one's way around one's own home than trying to maneuver in someone elses. 

As he waited for ogres to pass, he massaged the tight muscles in his arms that had worked all night to carve the rune, while he lifted pressure off his ankle. He felt entirely drained and not entirely surprised by it. Most likely he had used too much magic comparatively. This was good though, it would help master his focus in the long run. But at the moment it did not matter, with each step closer to the camp, his mind only drifted into silence and his eyes clouded around the eyes with the desire to sleep. 

Kal’sin purred from his knapsack.

Synric jumped at the sound, glancing around left and right seeing nothing but trees and plants. The initial adrenaline seeped away, turning his limbs into heavy weights. He rubbed at his eyes, pressing the exhaustion away, before looking down at the little dragon. Kal’sin had snaked its head out of his bag and was staring contently, but excitedly ahead.

Synric watched a little longer, letting his brain catch up to what he was seeing, before looking forward. The camp was nearby, only another handful of steps and he’d come out to the small clearing. He could see the boulder's tips in the distance. Kal’sin alertness only meant one thing, something or someone was ahead. Perhaps even waiting for him at camp. 

Based on what he could feel from the little dragon, it was someone they knew, someone they trusted. Faellyn. Came the name as he continued his path.

Have I been out here too long? 

He walked through the last of the bushes. Faellyn turned to face him, having clearly been examining his campsite.

She just got here. 

“Good Evening,” Faellyn stated.

Kal’sin hopped out of his bag and was scurrying along the forest floor; it was an unsaid agreement, but still, it surprised him each time how well the little dragon was able to read his mind. Kal’sin slithered to the first of the hidden runes, set a claw upon it, and in a second, the rune began to glow. A tongue tasted the air before slithering off to the next one.

Synric took a steady breath, forcing the tiredness, and even the lingering frustration, deep down into mind. All that was left was the numb sensation of routine. Synric maked his way to set his bow and arrows, bag, and weapons off in their usual spot against the tree. As he did, he responded. “Good evening, it's been a bit, I’m guessing.” The tiredness slipped briefly upon the last word, and he frowned while he untied the quiver from his belt. “Sorry, I lost track of time. How long has it been?” He turned and made his way to the firepit; already set and ready, he grabbed his tools and began to spark them. 

It was easy, the smoke and short flame spurred to life as Faellyn jewelry clinked together as she moved from her spot and took a seat. Pale blue eyes settled on him. “A few weeks from what I gathered, but I was away as well.” Her gaze wandered briefly towards the direction of the ogre’s settlement. “Are you looking for something?” 

A few weeks? He stole his gaze up towards the moon and stars, but he couldn’t quite see them. After-all daylight was shifting brighter. It’s only been a few days, hasn't it? He frowned deeply at the thought; it felt only like a few days, a week at most. Perhaps she’s referring to the total. Yes, I left before she came back. She’s been gone this whole time still? 

Synric followed her gaze. He could practically see the broken building and patrolling the ogres. The tower sat in his mind’s eye in its white stone brilliance in the moonlight surrounded by red firelight. “I feel something is there.” He said. 

Faelynn simply nodded. 

Synric turned back to the fire, now stoking it to make sure the flame did not die out just yet. He had some roots he wanted to cook while he slept. 

The silence was short, but thoughtful. “I thought of something that you might like to try.” She beckoned him over and moved something from her bag into her lap. Synric perked his head up. Anything that was something she wanted to try had to do with magic. He pushed himself up, winced at the soreness of his body, and settled immediately back down so he was in easy reach of her. 

Faellyn continued, “Everyone has the ability to tap into the arcane, but despite being a vast network of raw power, it's not very easy to tap into it for some people without a bit of guidance.” 

Novice equipment. He had seen such equipment before in the cities; they came mostly in the form of staves, but he had seen some that looked like jewelry, all of them had magic stones in them. This one was no different. It was a small, smooth gemstone that was set in the middle of thin leather strips, woven together in a pattern that resembled the way a jeweler might design metal with. The gem was sky blue and rather solid. Extending out from the gem was a set of equally intricate weaves that made it quite clear that the whole was supposed to be worn at two points on the body. 

He assumed either the ankle or wrist. 

As his mind sluggishly took all of this in, Fae carefully took his hand and showed how it fasted over the hand. Being that he wore gloves, he was surprised how it was able to stretch to lay on top of the extra padding. “An arcane focus,” she explained. “It’s used by both beginners and experienced mages. It’s attuned to the ley lines and helps you tap into their energy when you channel your spells. As you get more adept, instead of just helping you tap into them, it will let you cast spells stronger than you normally would.” 

An amplifier. Not a novice focus gem.

Both, he corrected.

Syric couldn’t hide his smile of delight, his excitement, even though his exhaustion drained the smile from his lips and only shined in his eyes when he looked at the bracelet. Kal’sin however echoed the delight he felt deep in his heart with a purr and a chirp as he came up to sit beside them. 

This was exactly what he needed; this would cut his work in half with the rune carving.

Synric studied the bracelet a little longer, feeling the weight on his arm and hands, judging that it would not hinder any movements as he flexed arm and fingers; he would just need to be careful not to slam it into any more walls and accidentally break the gem. 

Again, the feeling of delight overtook him, and he set his palm out and closed his eyes. Once he had been able to create a small ball of arcane energy without thinking, now he could summon only a speck. 

But what about now? 

He focused, feeling the energy around him, feeling no difference in his control, except it felt heavier, familiar, he could grab it and twist it, and his mind remembered how to do just that.

When Synric opened his eyes, a small ball, the size of a marble, was sitting above his palm. He didn’t try to hold on to it, the familiarity of his issues growing as the magic seemed to begin to seep from his grasp and the marble size blue ball popped letting a smoke of azure haze drift up and disappear into the night air. 

He almost jumped for joy, would have, instead, he smiled a half-smile teetering on elation. 

Fae’s calm demeanor broke into a small smile. “You have to practice,” she stated, pausing briefly to study him before continuing. “What gave your magic power before will only serve to hinder you now. You need to be calm and keep even focus over the extent of maintaining the spell. Without patience you’ll lose it each time.” 

It did not matter. He knew all of that, and he barely heard her words through the excitement of his pounding heart. This could be exactly what I need. 

“Thank you. I don’t think it will be much use to me at the moment. I’ll practice in the meantime.” He reassured, as he always did, not needing the reminder. Knowing that after the work he did today, she would probably have been impressed.

His gaze turned to the direction of the ruined city. The silence between them now was comfortable, familiar, and it allowed his thoughts to settle and wonder. 

Slowly, as they did, he wondered more about what she had said. Not like before. The shadow magic he read in his journals. The thought darkened his elation in that single moment, drawing in the darkness around them and bringing the fire’s light into an eerie focus. 

“I’m guessing,” he started, “I used magic to get through this area, more than I realized. I thought perhaps only a little bit, but it seems,” he looked towards her. “I was more dependent on it than I originally figured.” 

Images of his run through the city, his knowledge failing him of strategic points and even how to evade the ogres without the use of magic. Only to hide and wait. There was always more he could do, he knew, he simply did not have the knowledge; like hunting deer, he could always lure them or shift their natural instinct to better suit the hunt or use them as decoy to draw bigger prey. 

“The ogres seem sensitive to things around them or,” he frowned slightly as his eyes dimmed with the thoughts of memories unseen. The words that came were not the words he had wanted to say, yet still, they pulled his heart strings. “I haven’t quite mastered my footsteps. Talren wouldn’t be pleased to hear that.” 

The moment broke and that brief silence that followed came with a short curious gleam in his eyes as he looked towards Faellyn. “You said beforehand, negative emotions were the source of my power. But these are all emotions. Being calm is an emotion, would this not be any different then?” 

Hadn't the training beforehand been all about staying calm and checking my emotions, only using the negative sides to bolster it? His journals had said such, and from his journals, apparently, he had been too afraid to see how strong his magic could be and had never tried to let those negative emotions bolster his power. 

Fae shook her head at the last question. “In the past, an outburst of emotion would strengthen a spell. With arcane, a falter in emotion, positive or negative, can cause a catastrophic reaction that will likely harm you more than it will harm your adversary. Think of it like…triggering one of your runes or drawing it wrong. A crack in the foundation can cause an explosion and….other unsavory results.” 

Like what would happen if I drew the teleportation rune wrong. 

Synric nodded. He rubbed the edges of his eyes shortly after, and felt the sway of exhaustion find its hold on him once more. The silence drew out for a moment more, leaving only the growing fire to snap a piece of wood and crumble to ashes underneath. 

“I won’t go back to the house until I accomplish this task,” he said looking at her. “Once I do, I’ll probably leave. I need to find where Talren and Norli are. I-” He trailed off. I know it's my fault they are missing. If I hadn't left… “I only hope the trail isn’t cold by that time.” 

Faelynn’s expression shifted, it was subtle and it didn’t quite match the small smile she responded with; an uneasy feeling ran through him at the look. “I understand,” she said, “But make sure Kal’sin comes back if you need help here in the ruins.” 

Kal’sin snorted in response, he could feel the little dragon emotion sitting on the edge of pride and anger at such a statement. It eased a small smile on Synric’s lips that he let only Kal’sin see. 

The little dragon shifted and sat a little taller beside him. 

“I fear,” Fae's words shifted the air once more, drawing in that unease once more. “Talren and your friend are in a place we can’t follow. I have no way of tracking your friend, but for a time I could see Talren. Now when I look, there is only darkness. Still, I don’t feel he is gone.”

That was all he needed. Even in the grim tone of her words, as long as she felt he wasn’t gone, he could find them. “Either way, I have to try.” 

Fae stared at him before rising fluidly to her feet. “Let me know when you accomplish your goal here and I may have a starting point for the next part of your journey.”  She looked out towards the ogre camp. “Best of luck,” she smiled and began heading back towards the forest, in the direction of the village. 

Quick and simply, just like that gone. Unlike Mey or even Neia, they feel so different. He paused on the thought and the feeling that gripped at his heart. He shoved it away, forgetting it.

Synric sighed once the early morning birds began to chirp. His gaze shifted upwards to the sky, the deep darkness was now a deep orange. 

Best of luck, he repeated her words in his mind before closing his eyes and feeling the tug of sleep draw him in and so too did the weight of the task that lay beforehand. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this. 

He stood and made his way towards one of the trees.

Has it really been a few weeks? 

Synric grabbed the hidden vegetables from the hole in the tree and slid them under the dying fire. He settled down against the log and closed his eyes.  

[synric-silversong]

Challenges

Part 1- Limitations

Part 2- Challenges

Part 3-  Faellyn’s Gift

Part 4- Understanding Pride

On the trek to the campsite, Synric's mind coursed through the events of the night. He asked himself many questions, such as where had he gone wrong, what was his true opposition, the ogres or the wall? How was he going to get over the wall? How was he going to sneak by the more heavily fortified areas of the city, where ogres would be walking aimlessly? He also reflected upon his near death experience, trying to remember exactly what thought had managed to convince his body to jump through the window. 

When he finally could hear the babbling of water near his campsite, Synric still couldn’t answer that question.

Whatever spirit had forced him to react that way, he was glad, but he felt like he had cheated. Felt as if he had failed a test. Afterall, he hadn’t thought about jumping through the other window, or any attempt to escape. He had simply resigned himself to his fate; accepted it, even. Which felt worse in his heart than it did in his mind. Whatever compelled his body to move saved his life, but he should have been able to figure that bit of knowledge on his own.

Despair settling in, Synric started the fire. His movements were lackluster and filled with the heaviness of his emotions as he did so, and it seemed to take years to light the campfire. He criticized himself, even through the emotions, that he should have been focused on his injuries, or focused on checking his equipment. Not his self-pity. A small part of him did spur him to do these things, begged and yearned for the familiarity of the routine, yet, he settled himself near the lit fire and let his thoughts continue to roll forward in their despair of his failures until he fell asleep.

The following morning, Synric was feeling the aches and pains. They could not be ignored any longer. He tended to them each one at a time, moving swiftly as he did. He wrapped his swollen ankle with a wet cloth, and smeared a salve that burned and cooled as he placed it on sore muscles. In his examination, Synric only found a handful of scratches. Probably caused by the shards of rock or when he had jumped through the window or both. Nonetheless, there was little to do but wash them and move on. 

Once his injuries were taken care of, he focused on getting food in his stomach and as he ate, he checked his equipment. Synric thoughts laid a little lighter as he worked, a little more focused on the mission at hand. He had decided that the wall was the main objective, and there was only one way to get over the wall. He needed to climb it. Thoughts of finding another entry way were meant with moments of worry and fear. It could take days of learning patrol routes, finding traps, or even ambush spots, skills he had no knowledge off, at least. He didn’t even know where to start or how to even go about organizing that information into something useful. No, the way he knew was the safest path. Just because he didn’t have magic didn’t mean he couldn’t find a way over. After-all this whole test for himself was to prove that point.

He didn’t need magic.

Reaffirmed, and remotivated, he finished his task early and took the rest of the daylight hours to rest. When night settled, Synric made his way back towards the ruins.

The challenges began before he made it a mile from his camp. He ran into three patrols. The first caught him off guard, and he would have walked straight into them if it hadn’t been for Kal’sin’s hiss of warning. After that, he paid closer attention and found two more patrols walking around. He slipped by them with ease using the trees and the deep undergrowth to hide his silhouette. 

At the treeline that ran along the outer ruins, Synric waited as a patrol passed by unhindered. They carried clubs and axes and seemed more content in walking than searching. Their grumbling and broken language was nothing he understood in full sentence, something about fire and blood. A ritual maybe.

 He waited and watched until the patrol was at least ten large ogre steps away before he darted out of trees and into the moonlight.

Synric made it as far as four feet from the treeline when Kal’sin hissed. The little dragon was baring all its teeth as it stared straight into the ruins before them. He slid to a stop, crouching low, and followed the dragon's gaze. In the darkness ahead, an odd shape was forming within the shadow of a partially standing wall. 

An ogre, watching. 

Synric slowly retreated backwards, back into the shadows, out of the moonlight.

He frowned for a little bit, and when the ogre didn’t move for him, began cursing his bad luck. What was he supposed to do now? The sprint to the ruins wasn’t too far, but the opening was still a chance for the ogre to spot him, sound the alarm, and begin a whole new chase. His ankle was protesting that idea. Stealth was needed. A shame, he growled quietly under his breath. The only option was then taking a different route.

Synric sat on the thought, not liking it anymore than the first second he had decided on it, before he took towards the left side, away from the patrol that had gone by, and searched the shadows of the ruins carefully. He found a spot some meters away from his original and made a dash for it.

Nothing came for him. Nothing made a sound. Kal’sin let know warning other than his extreme distaste for this ‘test’. 

Synric eased his breath and started his way through the broken buildings, sticking to the shadows of the once proud walls and pillars.

He made it only a few streets in before running into another patrolling ogre. Synric dipped inside a building, heart racing, as the creature walked by unaware, picking its noise as it did. As it passed, he let out a heavy breath. 

Maybe tonight isn’t a good night. Synric peeked around the corner gazing in both directions. The thought was a simple observation, nothing more. Stubbornness was set in his mind and he was making his way across the street quickly and quietly, forgetting entirely he had even thought that single thought.

Kal’sin, however, answered with a snort in agreement. Tonight was a bad night to try this.

“We are already here, we might as well get it over with,” Synric whispered as he slid between a pillar and a cracked wall, peeking out through the next gap. Seeing nothing, he made his way through, like a cat used to the dark alleyways and needing to sprint through open streetlights to his next safety point. 

In this particular instance, the streetlight where the moonlight and the dark alleyway were the crumbled buildings.

Synric slid through an open window of a partially intact building, made his way across the room, and out the other side through a hole the size of an ogres foot. 

At that moment, as he crossed the next street, it struck Synric that last night's mishap might be the cause of all his issues of today. His stunt of last night had woken up the ogres like disturbed bees. 

Sluggish bees. Fat bees.

He grinned to himself as he crossed the next street.

The rest of his way towards the wall was a mix of dashing, pausing, checking for an ogre and then sliding into the next shadowy outcrop. There was no jogging along the streets of the ruins. No wandering eyes to the once beautiful structures, or letting his mind conjure up thoughtful images of what the city might have been like before. No, all he cared for was large hulking bodies moving around the streets, and occasional sitting among buildings, and also where the closest stone and shadows laid so he could hide from those bodies. Tonight, he was more thankful for windows when he needed to hide into buildings, or fallen in walls when he couldn’t find shelter. 

Thus it took much longer to get to the wall that night, and once he reached the wall, he was struck with the next challenge.

 His ankle was throbbing after all the sprinting and dashing. To see if he could possibly do the climb, Synric flexed his ankle in several different directions; it barely moved, sending sharp pains of warning no matter which way he turned; his ankle was in a much worse situation than it had been that morning. 

An unfortunate complication.

An ogre grunted.

Synric spun and dashed back towards one of the buildings, not waiting to see where the ogre was, and slid between the wall and the shadows. The rumble of heavy footfalls came only a handful of breaths later and seemed to pass slowly.

 The night held an uneasy, accomplished, silence as the ogre’s left the area. 

Synric collapsed, eyes closed tight, and fingers rubbing along his eyelids.

A wasted night, a wasted week! He cursed, pulling off his boot, and scowled at how swollen his ankle now looked. No, I have to try. I can walk on it, I’ve had worse. 

A pause came from that thought. Had he? 

The thought was followed up with a sigh as he rewrapped his ankle, and gently shoved it back into his boot; it was not comfortable, and if it swelled anymore, he might have to cut the boots off, somehow. 

 Synric shook his head. For the moment, there was nothing left to do. He had two choices, climb or return and consider this test failed without even trying to pass the first hurtle.

Silence was the third better option. 

He sat there for a time comfortable and with no thoughts to keep him company.

He sat long enough that the aches of his body were growing numb now that he wasn’t using them. Long enough that he had counted three pairs of patrolling ogres walking by. Long enough that Kal’sin let himself fall asleep. 

And still he sat, feeling a sense of nothingness and content in that feeling.

Another pair of ogres made their way by, their rumblings catching his attention and pulling him from his stupor. Something had been bothering him after the second patrol passed, and this time, he could not ignore the feeling. He watched the ogres walk by and realized with growing intrigue that they were different from the last three before them.

They weren’t patrols then, this was a pathway for the returning ogres. Which meant they were heading somewhere.

Blessed with this new sense of curiosity, Synric waited a while longer, watching as two more pairs came by just to make sure. He was correct. They either had different weapons, different parts of clothing, and one group had a two headed ogre versus the other having only one head each.  

Synric stood up with the flexibility of an old dog who had been laying down too long, and stretched out his hurt muscles. By the time the next pair of ogres passed by, Synric was ready to follow.

The ogres made their way further along the wall before coming up to one of the dips he had seen the night before, like the one he had tried to climb. The ogres didn’t hesitate. They stepped right over the wall where those dips in the stone were, and Synric watched as the rocks settled a little deeper, knocked from their perch from the weight upon them. The surprise and the utter common sense of the situation struck him then that those dips had not been from the natural settling of rocks as he had believed.

It was dumb luck then that he hadn’t made it over the wall the night before. There could have been an ogre station beyond just a few steps away. How then would he have made it out of the city? Scrambling up the stone wall and hoping by Elune's grace he wouldn’t be snatched up.

He watched a couple of more ogres take the same route and, satisfied they weren’t coming back, a new idea came to him. 

Synric went back into the ruined section of the city and found another patrol. He followed them as well, keeping well to the shadows and the building. They never turned to go out of the inner portion of the ruins. They simply made an easy line to line and turned back around. To which, he was quick to duck into a building and hide. Eventually, the patrol found its way to a tall building somewhere in the middle. He was ready to follow them in, when flares of blue magic sparked to life in front. An ogre stood, watching the front door. Synric hustled back into a different building, and when the moment of shock wore off, slipped to a different one that was closer and easier to see the building they entered.

He waited for some time to see if the patrol would come back out. They never did. Then he waited to see if the guard would relax or maybe even abandon its station. It did not. 

It was another way in, he assumed. Probably an underground tunnel that led deeper into the city, beyond the wall. It was an option, however, the ogre guarding the path had actual armor and a metal sword. Sneaking past would be impossible without magic; it would require fighting or a distraction which in the end would cause ogres to come from all directions, maybe from within too.  

Synric weighed all these thoughts as the night slipped away. In his thoughts, there simply were too many variables, and yet, he let each one have its turn. None of them seemed to work well. A few seemed possible with the right amount of luck, but if he was wrong for just a single moment…

He moved on to the next thought. He was tired of depending on luck. He wanted guarantees. 

Synric sat in his building, idling watching the entrance and its guard waiting to see if any new information or events would play out. Around some point, an ogre came to replace the one standing in front. After that, nothing else seemed to happen, and it wasn’t until Synric noticed a shift in the shadows, that the sun was beginning to rise. 

The sky was turning a light purple; it was time to exit the ruins.

Synric slipped out of the cover of the building and began to make his way back towards the jungle.

Come afternoon, Synric was back at his camp. His decision still laid on the idea of climbing the wall, but it would take a week, maybe even more, for his body to heal. And slipping through the secondary entrance, a part of him felt he didn’t have the skills or knowledge to do it properly. If he messed up again, his ankles wouldn’t allow another long chase in the ruins, and being as the entrance was in the middle, it would be a long run to safety. Fighting wasn’t an option either, his bow and arrow would only be good for angering an ogre instead of killing it in one attack. He just wasn’t strong enough to pull back the string as he should be, and needed to be, to puncture an ogre's skull. 

The only other weapon he had was his steel dagger that he used more for carving in runes against trees and stones then….

He stopped briefly in his thoughts. 

Runes. Why hadn’t he thought of that beforehand! 

Giddiness rose inside him. It would take time, but he could carve a teleportation rune in the stones. He would only need to climb the wall once, get to the other side, and carve the second teleportation rune; he had an easy out and an easy way in, and it would take at least a day, maybe more depending how often he got interrupted. Perhaps then his body would be healed for just one climb? 

Synric chuckled. Why hadn’t he thought about it beforehand? His use of magic was limited, certainly, but he had knowledge of runes. All they needed was a little energy input and the runes could serve as his focus and it wouldn’t matter if he could maintain it or not, especially if he added in…

His mind continued with the mechanics and the possibilities. Going deeply into the intricacies of designs that all came to his mind as if a flood gate was lifted from his memory. 

But they were just memories. Flawed in the aspect of exact patterning. Some were clear in his mind as if they were written on a piece of paper before him. But the ones that he thought would be most beneficial, such as a rune to constantly absorb the magic from around itself so it could keep itself active, was just a vague idea he had remembered reading in a book. The teleportation rune was one of these faded memories. He couldn’t be wrong, not even a hair length off, or, Mey’s hard work in rejuvenating him would have been a wasted three months.

However…

Synric dug through his knapsack and pulled out one of the journals he felt compelled to carry with him. He flipped through the pages, having looked through it before and knowing it contained a lot of notes and maps for sections throughout the many areas he had visited beforehand, though not remembering what the maps meant exactly, he came to the last few pages.

Runes were written on them in perfect design. They were all mostly experimental runes. A combination of runes that would work in theory meant to defend against spells that attacked the soul, spells to defend against the undead, spells to bless the area it was connected to. Protection runes mostly. There was one section though where he had drawn out a bunch of different runes that were normal.

He looked them over. There were no names written over them, no description, and yet, as he looked at each one he recognized them for what they were.

Spells to absorb magic. Spells for basic barriers. Spells for this and that. He stopped, his eyes landing on a rune roughly in the middle of the page. A teleportation rune. A short distance one, it had enough energy to teleport items or one person just a building window apart.

Synric’s smile grew wide, he had what he needed. For the remainder of the day, he set the journal beside him and began carving into the dirt and the wood and whatever would hold a drawing to practice the rune and all its intricate designs to memory.

It was a long day, but time seemed to fly by and when night settled, his camp was covered in these designs, and the ground was torn up as if a worker had come to dig up the land to plant seeds.

 But he had it memorized, he was certain. 

Satisfied at last, as soon as he leaned back against the log nearby, his exhaustion settled in heavy, and his stomach growled with its fury for not having eaten in well over twenty-four hours. 

Food first, then rest.

That night, he hunted for meat, and come day he was sleeping soundly. 

The following night, he was ready.

Fate had it, that his travel would not go well. Once he reached the ruins, Synric got caught only three streets in. Ogres had grown lazy from their walking and had settled into buildings and as he jumped through a window to avoid a patrol that was coming by, he had landed on one sleeping ogre. That specific building had been destroyed as he made his sprint through to the other side, took a sharp turn back down the alleyway he had just come from, and went back three streets before sliding into a crevice of a wall to see if the ogres were following.

They had not, but Synric could see their ugly heads popping up and down and roaring for the little white rat to come out. Their voices seemed to come from everywhere. 

Synric was pushed back to the ruins edge, and scowled when he could see the treeline just a short sprint distance away. He glanced back at the ruins, saw an ogre coming down the path, and made a dash to safety. 

The fourth night went better. 

Though it started off in despair, as there had been more than a few groups simply standing at the area he normally went through, he surveyed the rest of the southern border and found that the edges were unguarded.  In fact, he ran into no resistance as he came in from the east end of the ruins. It baffled him why the ogres were situated in the south.

Synric made his way into the buildings until he came to the wall. It took only a moment to find a suitable piece of stone to draw the large rune circle, yet, as he looked around knew it would be too dangerous to try and craft a rune here. What if an ogre came by and put a rock on top of it, not thinking anything of it?

The thought filled him with dread, especially the idea of ogres chasing him on the other side and his rune no longer working. 

Synric turned towards the buildings and made his way. Half-way too the center of the broken city, he found a building still standing, and was within distance of a building on the other side. He made his way in, and drew out his dagger. He focused the little bit of arcane he could summon and pushed it into the weapon. The dagger began to glow an eerily blue and as he touched the stone, the rock chipped at its location. 

It was slow work, slower than it should have been, he knew. But the rune on his knife was only as strong as how much energy he could put in it at a time, and that was very little. 

“Little light?” An ogre deep voice vibrated around him. Synric jumped, his focus destroyed and, unaware of how bright his knife was, had practically plunged everything into darkness around him. Synric shuffled as his eyes adjusted as quickly as they could, and found a corner. His heart raced as an ogres eye peaked in through a window. 

“I saw light,” it said, before another one remarked. “You see things.” 

Argument ensued between the two ogres, all Synric could do was pray they didn’t try to break the building.

They left shortly after, their voices trailing in the air and then fading; their footsteps were the last to disappear from sound. Shakily, Synric peeked around his corner, took in a deep breath, and made his way back to his spot. 

He brought his dagger back to life, and this time, let Kal’sin help him. The little dragon happily agreed to his assignment and crawled out of the building and set up his lookout point.

Five patrols passed, and Synric let darkness slide over him and wait til they were gone to begin again. 

By the time he was done, he was exhausted. There was a lightness to the dark outside, and when he peaked out, Synric could see the faint hue of purple on the edges of the sky. 

Faster than he had anticipated. He was certain the process would have taken a day and half. Slowly, he set his dagger back into his position, marked the building with a few stones piled together and made his way back to camp.

[synric-silversong]

Limitations

Part 2- Challenges

Part 3- Faellyn’s Gift

Part 4- Understanding Pride

Part 1- Limitations

The moonlight above was of the First Quarter moon sitting on the edge of the Waxing Gibbous. The light was decent, enough to give definition to shadows, but where the shadows met, the darkness was thickest. 

Synric moved gracefully through the jungle’s undergrowth. He trusted in those feelings, and in turn, those feelings eased his path and helped with avoiding the ogre’s common trails through the jungle.

He did not run into any.

Upon coming up to the ruins there were three subtle changes. The first was the ground turned from soil and roots to scattered rocks and pebbles that made his footing uneven. He slowed his trek to an easy jog so he didn’t accidentally make a lot of noise. The second was the faintest thinning of the jungle trees which gave way to taller, thicker undergrowth growing unchecked. The last was when the jungle canopy broke into a full night sky littered with stars and the quarter moon. Stretching beneath the sky was a broken landscape of white crumbling stone buildings, shadows, firelight, and a tall white tower in the center.

Synric did not give the sights their moments due. Instead, he fell back into the treeline and listened and smelt the air. The city was naturally quiet. Bugs and night birds sung in the distance, the wind was gentle and the air crisp and clean. A good sign. Either that meant the patrol hadn’t gone by, or hadn’t yet reached this section. 

Synric gave a quick look both directions before sprinting to the next shadowed area which was a collapsed building with a few corned walls still standing. He knew, from the feelings he had of this place, the shadows within the buildings were his friends for they were too small for the ogres to hide in. Thus he only needed to pay attention to how well the street paths were.

He took a quick look, noting the green healthy tips of plants sprouting before him. No ogres had passed by recently.

Kal’sin shuddered upon Synric’s shoulders as they walked the path. The doubt from the little dragon from earlier was now of high concern, and once again, Kal’sin offered his prior help to lend some magic for Synric’s use. 

Synric declined as he had declined earlier. Even if the dragon was his soul company, he would not be there all the time to help. He needed to be able to do this on his own. 

Kal’sin still wasn’t happy, and Synric stroked the little head, before picking up his pace, keeping to the shadows when he could, but never diverting from the crumbling stone path. 

This street, as long as he followed it, would lead him straight to the tower. Everything beyond the path, the broken buildings and the stone piles, looked like a maze of twists and turns. He could not find the familiarity in them. But, at least, he could see the jungle trees in all directions. Getting lost would be as simple as finding the tallest tree and finding his way back out. 

With each step, a growing anxiousness began to make itself known. He had yet to see an ogre, and he wondered if that was the cause of his worry. But, as he traveled on the path, he eventually figured out that there was something ahead that tightened his stomach. An obstacle perhaps, or a section of the trip that would be more dangerous to navigate.

Synric pushed further in, the crumbled walls became less so and more like disheveled buildings. The stone walls only existed at corners, or where buildings had been crushed in. The sound of ogres shifting around was the only sign they were even out there, but at least now he could hear them. Occasionally his ear would twitch behind, or off to a corner of the ruined city to the sound of guttural cursing. Only once, as he was dashing across a wide plaza, did he hear an ogre call out.

Another one answered in a different direction, further out. Synric did not, could not see them, and picked up his speed to carry himself further away from their shouts. 

Eventually, Synric found the source of anxiety. Further ahead on the street he traveled he could see a heap of stones stacked like a mountain top blocking the path. As he came up to it, he stared momentarily wondering if it had once been a large building that had collapsed and taken all the others with it. Whatever the case, he decided quickly that If he tried climbing it the stones would most likely not hold. How did he get through this before? Of course as he thought that very thought, his eyes trailed upwards to the top of the wall. Magic. His body reacted, reaching out subconsciously for the very source of the spell. Teleportation. He could feel the magic, like a gentle breeze against his skin, crawling through his body. A phantom breeze; it made his heart hurt with longing.

Synric frowned, looking down the streets to see if there might be any breaks or better footing. From what he could see, the building must have been abnormally large if it was blocking such a large portion of the city's path that he couldn’t see any holes from where he stood.

He looked back, taking in the stones, the way they laid. He reached out and touched one, wiggled it, and felt it loosen; the rest of the pile began to shift and he leapt back. 

There was only the briefest moment of rocks slipping back into their new position. Synric froze, relaxing only when the sound faded and nothing else came.  

He sighed and gave the wall a secondary, closer look.

 There were a few stones that stuck out, pillars perhaps; there were even wooden boards and pieces of metal. Some of the items wouldn’t be staying as they were without some weight sitting on it. There was a route upwards, but it was a gamble. One misjudge and he would bring the whole wall down, alerting all the patrols in the area. He played with the thought a little longer, but his ears twitched at the sound of gurgling coming from the other side of the wall. 

Synric froze. 

The grumbling passed on, soon leaving him in a comfortable silence. 

Ogres on the other side, and I’m unable to see them. He frowned, but there was little he could do about that problem.

He decided. There had to be a safer way to get across. He needed to walk the streets he did not know from those feelings. Hopefully, well as long as he followed this main path, he wouldn’t get lost.

Kal’sin shivered in his choice. The little dragon demanded they leave now, come back another time, more prepared. What about the magic he could lend? What if he just flew them across? Synric stroked the little dragon once more, too afraid to voice his opinion openly. This was the whole point. Handicapped as he was now, he was able to get into the area beforehand, he could do so again. He just needed a different way. A different route.

Kal’sin could feel his response, and a bristle of anger, derived from fear, coursed through the little dragon.

Synric ignored him and kept to his plan. 

The street he followed was well-worn, which made it easy to follow, but also nerve wrecking. The grass tips were flatten, or at some points, didn’t exist. Ogres passed by frequently in this area. He kept his gaze partially on his left as he examined the wall on the right. The normal spaces between buildings gave way to plenty of side-streets or even larger streets that looked to have once been carriage roads. He even came up to a circular path where the wall on his right blocked a portion of the street, making it seem odd when he came across a fountain that stood directly in front of him, forcing him to walk around. 

No matter how long he traveled, even as the jungle trees were forming shapes in the distance, the wall of stones never broke, never grew smaller, only dipped at sections as if the stones were finally trying to settle. 

Synric slowed his walk around the time that he could see the end of the path further ahead where grass replaced stones. He stopped entirely when he came to another dip in the wall where warm light flickered from the other side. He stared, smelling ogres in the air, but it was thin, they hadn’t been here for a moment.

The ogres must have moved these stones to build this wall. To make access harder. He sighed. I thought they were relatively stupid. Simple dens and buildings. He stroked back loose hairs that stuck to his temples, which prompted him to tye his hair back into its flat bun. He did all this while examining the wall. Clearly I was wrong. I have no choice, I need to climb the wall. 

All he needed was four good footholds. He pinpointed the stones that seemed to fit the criteria; there were four, more than four, at this section, widely spaced, but he could jump to them, avoid the more unstable ones, and jump over the top. However, if he misjudged…

Synric contemplated this a while longer, and slowly was  beginning to slide on the edge of caution when the smell of ogres struck him on a sharp gust of wind further down the path.  

His eyes snapped, just as a pink skin, one-headed, ogre stepped out from the shadows of a connecting street with a mace in hand. Synric frowned as its voice mumbled in sharp to low sounds, talking to himself, not yet noticing him. 

Kal’sin tightened around his neck, digging his claws into the metal chain mail of his leathers. 

Synric glanced at the break in the wall, then towards the broken walls and buildings on his left.

Hide or climb? He was already moving to the wall before he even finished the thought with a shocked and distraught dragon on his shoulders complaining in his mind.

It was an easy decision. Hiding he risked being caught, then needing to retreat and make his way back to the jungle canopy before coming back. A waste of time and effort. Climbing on the other hand, well, if he was right, he would make it over the wall before the ogre would see him. 

The first stone held him, and just as he was about to bear his full weight, he jumped to the next; he heard the stones shift but none moved. Synric repeated, jumping like a goat across a steep hill. He smiled at the ease of observation from earlier. Confidence blooming where doubt had made him question. Even if the next one broke, he could finish the jump and scramble the rest of the way up and then hide on the other side if the ogre was smart enough to look. But he doubted it would be, probably figuring the wind knocked down some stone. But as those thoughts entered his head and he made to jump for the last stone, he heard the ogre voice say, “Huh, a rat?” 

Synric hissed out his breath and stumbled as his foot hit the last stone. Thrown off balance, he threw himself forward. He knew, before it even happened, that the stone would give.

It did with a small shift.

Synric was thrown backwards, causing him to lean forward again so as to not fall head first, and then he began feeling gravity pull him down as the stones began to rumble all around him.

 An old muscle called out for magic, to use the last bit to leap over the edge and be on the other side. He could feel the surge seeping through his body, he could practically taste it and was certain he had done it.

Except the magic never took him, it simply caressed him, laughed in his ears, and disappeared mocking his very hope.

He spun as rocks bumped his back and his legs, trying his best to keep his footing as an avalanche drew down upon him.  

The ogre roared. “Intruder, little rat!” And the sound of ogres' feet thundered in his ears. 

Kal’sin hissed nearby, his weight gone from Synric’s shoulders as he could see the ground below him disappearing under smooth, oval shaped rocks. 

Footing would be almost impossible. 

Just as the rocks slowed in their descent, the ogre reached them, mace raised in the air.

Synric lept, striking a stone wrong, and felt his ankle give. He rolled out, striking uneven stones and throwing the breath from him as he landed on his back. Just as he heard a smattering of stones get struck with something hard and flew in different directions.

He found he wasn’t moving anymore. The avalanche had stopped carrying, and his shoulder, his entire back, and his ankle protested movement. But laying upside down, as he was finding his breath, he watched the Ogre lift up his mace where he had one been. “Smush rat?” It questioned, frowning when it saw only stone below. 

The ogre let out a holler looking around fervently. Synric gasped, adrenaline throwing him to his feet and upon even ground sprinted without looking first where he was. He slammed straight into a corned wall that was only a handful of steps away, he spun from the shoulder that met the solid object, stumbled a few steps forward before giving in and rolling. He was back on his feet, pushing off at a sprinter's position. 

 “Come back rat!” The ogre roared. 

A second roar echoed in a different direction, an answering call from a different ogre.

“A Rat! A Rat!” The Ogre chimed behind as the ground shaked with each footfall, each mantra of the word rat.

Synric cursed as he dashed between shadows and rocks, twisting and turning, managing to keep just in front of the ogre. The footsteps felt like they were right on top of him, but the ogre’s hollering noted it was only a couple of long steps away. Even as he ducked into buildings to pop out from the other side, lost but not caring, seeking more of a hiding spot than an exit, the ogre found him each time within seconds; it gave him no rest. 

How can it see so well? 

The ogre chanted. “Rat, rat, come here rat!”

It was hard to think. Fear pushed him to run, while a small part of him registered that his leg and his shoulder stung and his ankle was beginning to give a little with each step, unable to bear his weight at this speed; he needed to do something, he wouldn’t be able to outrun the long legged ogre. 

It did not strike Synric until several more streets later, and a sudden jump sideways as the ogre appeared from nowhere and slammed it's mace where he had been only a second ago, that the the ogre wasn’t seeing well, but predicating where he would be going based on the straightforward manner of the buildings layout. 

He was trying to run like he was in the forest, ducking and dodging, twisting and turning to confuse an enemy in a random growth of under bushes and trees. Here, the buildings were repetitive, the streets open, and nothing moved but him and the ogres. There were only so many directions one could go. 

He needed to stop and disappear into the buildings. Maybe even sticking to the buildings, instead of running between gaps. He leapt across the street, eying the buildings closer than he had beforehand; they were evenly spaced out, with lots of empty space between and…

The prickle of air warned him. Synric slid to a stop and watched as the ogre flew by and the mace struck further ahead. 

The ogre grunted, turned its head, as Synric dashed into the building. Jump through a window, to the other section of the building.  

Into the darkness of the building, Synric heaved a great breath before finding the stairwell. He dashed up just as he heard the ogre call out. “Found him!” 

The old wood and stone collapsed underneath his rushing feet. He reached out as he fell, catching the stone of the floor above; he hung briefly, taking in a breath, realizing he hadn’t fallen, and wasn’t dead. Synric pulled himself up, cursing each time he got a limb on even flooring.  

This was a bad idea. 

As he got to his feet, he saw the ogre's eyes staring at him; it laughed. “Puny rat!” It hollered, his eyes disappearing.

Synric felt his whole body grow cold. He was dead. The ogre was going to destroy the building, with him inside. His idea wasn’t a bad idea, it was a terrible idea. He should have kept running, doing what he knew. 

The world shook, the sound of crumbling stones tinged and hollered in its sudden release. Dust matted his senses, drying his throat, and…

He held his breath, held his coughing. Dust laid thickly around him, but there was stone underneath, his fingers and toes twitched, and his head popped upwards from the ground.

“Where is rat? Where is tiny thing?” The ogres voice echoed behind him. He looked over his shoulder, propping himself up on hands and knees and stilled.

There were archways framed behind him letting in moonlight. Windows without glass, and as the thought struck him, he realized he wasn’t in a building anymore but on one of the connecting hallways that lead to a different building.

How am I alive? 

Briefly, he remembered that he had pivoted away from the window where he had seen the ogre and had jumped through another.

A shaky breath escaped him, slowly making his way over to the open windows and peeked over the wall. 

“Hm? Maybe squished?” The ogre grunted, as a stone was tossed from the creature's large fingers. 

The sound of footsteps rumbled by and slowed. Synric ducked his head.

“You catch?” The ogre asked.

“Smush.” An immediate response. 

The voices sounded the same, and for a second he thought maybe the ogre was talking to himself.

“Help look, yes?” Said one of the ogres. “He’ll be mad without body.”

He heard a sigh. “Under stone?”

“Yes, under stone.” 

Synric peeped over the edge once more, watching as two ogres were moving stone out of the way as if it were bundles of sticks. They wouldn’t be looking for long. 

Synric eased his breath. Thank Elune for their stupidity, he praised before turning around and quietly made his way through the opposing windows, and climbed his way back to the streets. 

He made sure they were still busy before sprinting his way down the streets ignoring the pain in his ankle, the stiffness in his back, and the throb in his shoulder and arm. As he came to the jungle edge, he felt the release of tension from his body. Glancing back once at the city, Synric disappeared into the shadows of the large trees.

[synric-silversong]

Illusions

Mentions: @divergent-lines @thefracturedmosaic​

Synric found himself running through a dappled sunlight forest. Long grass grew as high as knees, the wind rustled leaves and touched the tips of the grass below. The weight of his bow felt light and easy in his hand. He smiled as he walked through the forest. Not quite sure where he was going or why, he was content to walk through and take in the warmth and cool of the sun, and feel the wind against his face.

           He felt a give under his feet. Swiftly, he took the weight off his foot and spotted a nice long piece of wood. Arrows. A lightness at his hip was a sudden remainder. That’s why I’m out here. Talren will be upset that I used up all his arrows again and didn’t collect them.

           He reached down and picked up the piece of wood and stuck it into his quiver.

           Pieces of broken branches seemed to lay everywhere now that he was looking. Long nice pieces of wood he put in his quiver. Long, skinny, pieces of wood he set back down. Long crooked pieces that were thick and had only a faint bend at the tips, he put in his quiver. Crooked pieces that couldn’t be cut into straight slender pieces he set back down.

           Thus, he collected a totally of twenty pieces of wood and had set down forty.

           The forest hadn’t changed in all that time. The sun was still high and warm. The winds brushed by lazily.

           Still, plenty of time. He sat down against one of the trees, drew out his knife, and began shaving the unnecessary ends of the stick that would weigh the arrow down. A small pile of wood strips were sitting between his legs as four arrow shafts sat to the side.

           His fingers were beginning to ache, but it was a welcomed ache. Talren will never notice the difference. He thought rather foolishly. Talren always knew when replaced the ones he lost. Always.

           Synric felt himself tighten at the thought, looking down at his wood strips, the pile of clean arrow shafts. I’ve done this before.

           Clouds began to roll through, taking the sunlight in speckled waves before vanishing into a grey, dark mist. The forest had turned a darkened, unnaturally thing.

           “Uncuff him.” A man’s voice Synric didn’t recognize said.

           “You tried the other day, give the kid a break. He hasn’t even been alert for thirty minutes.” Jacorek voice. He recognized that deep, low tone.

           The cold, clammily feeling under his cheek and hands urged him upwards; he felt weak doing so. His arms shook, once toned and larger, looked scrawny like those arrows he had been crafting.

           “That wasn’t our deal,” said a woman, she sounded annoyed, irritated, like a mother on a verge of screaming at her children. “Why must I have to remind you every day?”

           A man’s head swiveled in the darkness; he was sitting in a chair next to the bars he was laying by. “Why must I remind you of our deal?” Jacorek retorted. “He’s under my care, you only get to do your test until I’m done with him. Then we can decide on a deal if you can have him. Now,” his voice boomed on that word. “I refuse. Leave the kid alone for today, and for shits and giggles, tomorrow. Come back after that.” His hand waved to the darkness.

           Synric swayed on his hands, not having the energy to get himself all the way to a sitting position, and collapsed; the stone floor met him like an old friend, caressing him with cold fingers.

           “I’ve already drawn—” the voices began to fade as another deeper darkness consumed him.

           The forest was now bright and sunny, and Synric found himself staring at large gap between the trees; his half finished arrow shafts were in his quiver, now needing to find some type of bird or owl to pluck feathers from. His search along the forest floor seemed to give him no help, so a nest would be helpful, or a bird itself. He had found some stones that he collected in case he ran into an unwary bird.

           But the birds were now far from his mind. In that open space before him stood a large black stag, with white antlers, and green eyes; he had seen Synric well before he had seen it. The creatures’ nostrils flared; his attention locked.

           He was awed struck even if he wanted to move. He had never seen a black stag before. He had heard in stories of the ones in Ashenvale, but didn’t they have different colored eyes? And its antlers where stark white.

           The stag snorted, a quiver of body movement, and it leapt away.

           The wind pushed against him, stealing leaves from branches like birds at a fruit tree. The stag was gone, and Synric rushed out in to the open space, but ahead the trees grew tighter, the canopy thick enough that the sunlight above couldn’t penetrate; darkness laid everywhere ahead; there was only a speck of white through that darkness, leaping up and down and growing smaller.