#syrahnbloodfeather

[ouroandar]

Ouro An’dar Interview

► Name ➔  “Ourobor An’dar, or just Ouro.” ► Are you single ➔  “Yes.” ► Are you happy ➔  “Occasionally, I am when out on the shooting range.” ► Are you angry? ➔  “Almost always.” ► Are your parents still married ➔ “I never knew my birth parents but given I was dumped off at an orphanage as a baby I doubt it.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔   “No idea.” ► Hair Color ➔ “Dirty blonde with some red highlights.” ► Eye Color ➔ “Typical green of our race.” ► Birthday ➔ “No idea, but I always celebrated on October 31st.” ► Mood ➔ “Annoyed.” ► Gender ➔ “Male.” ► Tattoos/Scars ➔  “Ouroboros tattoo on the back of my neck.  Some bullet wound scars scattered about, most obvious is the scar across the front of my neck.  Harder to kill than most expect it seems.” ► Summer or winter ➔  “Winter, I prefer the cold.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Neither, I’m a night person.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔  “No.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔  “No, it’s a foolish notion.” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔  “I’ve never had much of a desire to seek out an actual relationship.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  “Absolutely.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔  “The relationship type?  I don’t think afraid is the correct word for it.  It’s usually easiest for all parties involved in my circle not to have any sort of commitment.” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔  “I don’t believe so.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔  “Probably, not really something I can answer myself.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔  “No.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Lust.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Dogs, but not mine.  I wouldn’t do well with pets.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “I don’t have any best friends, I don’t have many regular friends either but that would be my preference.  Best friend implies you share a lot with them and that’s just not my style.” ► Wild night out or romantic night in➔ “Wild night out, not a fan of romance.” ► Day or night ➔  “Night.  It’s when all the best things happen.” ► Giving or receiving ➔  “Receiving, I can be a selfish man.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “No.  I don’t think anyone ever cared enough that I was doing it to ‘catch’ me.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔  “Pushed down stairs a few times.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔  “...Yes.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “Yes, I have before multiple times.” ► Been married ➔  “No, marriage is not in the books for me.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔  “Eyes rarely lie.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔  “Shorter.” ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  “Both are an absolute must.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Hook-ups only for the foreseeable future.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “I never knew my real family, but the one that took me in, yes.  Most of the time.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔  “My life is my life, it is what it is.  ‘Messed up’ is a subjective phrase but I’m sure others would say I do.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔  “No, there would have been consequences if I did.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “For a night here and there, I was a bit of a ‘problem child’.  The people that raised me didn’t exactly have the same moral values that the majority do.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔  “Those who I consider my enemies know they are my enemies.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “No.  I’m not sure I have any ‘good friends’. ► Who is your best friend ➔ “Nobody.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “Nobody living.”

Tagged by @raerys-songbrook @naisav @syrahnbloodfeather Tagging @felonous (any) @turning-through-the-never (any) - whoever else hasn’t done this yet!

[k-sunrael]

Dearest Syrahn;

It has come to my attention that myself and yours have not come together for a proper meeting in quite some time. As it stands, the Amber Glade is one of the biggest contributors to the Oathguard in Dalaran and abroad in the Broken Shore with supplies and units. I would like to propose a meeting, one in which we are able to sit and revisit all stocks as well as forces and what advances are needed from here on out in the fight against the Legion. With many of the Master’s bent and broken, it will take renegotiation I believe to finally get everything back on even playing fields.

Please respond when you are able and accompanied with a time and date that would best suit your busy schedule within the Glade. I will be sure to set aside time to promptly see you and tend to these matters.

Light bless.

Faithfully; K. Sun’rael

[[ @syrahnbloodfeather ]]

[whitstanwilhelm]

In the spirit of Sexual Sunday, does good all Whitty have a fancy for anyone or anything specific? We know he is a DK and quite cold but based on seeing him have a fondness for painting, what else does he hold dear that still links him to life?

The Death Knight perked a brow inquisitively, “A fancy?” he asked. His usually-emotionless demeanor shifted to one of slight confusion as he pondered the question. His cold, swirling blue eyes pierced as he responded with a deep, echoed tone, “If you meant fond, then I have grown fond of only two people. A priestess by the name of Syrahn,” he spoke before pausing a moment, “She seems to hold to her faith even when others doubt her. It’s an admirable quality.”

“The other is also a priestess. Kaevia Sun’rael. She always wears a guise of composure, but her eyes speak another truth. I’ve seen her worn down but carry on forward. I’ve seen her expend every last ounce of her being to heal the injured on an active battlefield being showered by demons. Even to the point where should could not stand herself while in the face of death and fel-tainted monstrosities. That sort of… selflessness… altruism, even, it’s not something I’ve seen often. I envy such dedication. I’ve yet to find anything worthy of commitment such as hers.”

“As for something I’m fond of… as much as I despise the endless compulsion and no matter how reluctant I am to inflict pain, causing it is a brief relief from relentless torment. It’s almost enjoyable. As twisted as it is, I am drawn even more toward the people I admire due to my affliction. My desire to affect them… is stronger. But I know,” he said, pausing again, “it isn’t the right thing to do. Which is why I keep my distance with the living at times.”

“Things I hold dear? There’s not much. I paint because it helps me focus and fight off the urges. Because I can reflect and see others from a different point of view and maybe see them through eyes that aren’t tainted with red, a mind that isn’t wracked by a torrent of violence waiting inside to escape. To find some beauty in this existence we fight to keep.”

“But… the only thing I would say that links me to ‘life’ is when I see the vigor of the living: their conviction and their resilience. Their true strength when everyone turns from them and the odds are stacked against them. I would say that is why I’m fond of those two. They make the most of their lives. I would like to think that maybe I made the most of mine as well.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 24

Revelry/Denial ( @daily-writing-challenge​​, @syrahnbloodfeather​ )

World: Warcraft

It was a long ride from the gates of the Amber Glade to Silvermoon City.

Syrahn would have preferred to use the portal within the Red Raven to teleport directly into the capital, but her sister Viridias insisted otherwise. “Flaunting your wealth is an important part of your job ruling the Glade.” She could still hear her excited voice hours later. “Even your most mundane errands need to be a spectacle for the commoners. It brings pride to our house and potential investors to our secluded city! So go out and travel in style!” Because of her Syrahn sat in the fanciest carriage she could buy, escorted by a host of guards in the flashiest armor, while she wore a dress worth a small fortune.

She kept her window closed once she reached the gates of Silvermoon City, but the thin veil was not enough to stop her from seeing the gathering crowd ogling at her carriage. She wasn’t a celebrity, or a legendary war heroine returning home; just a privileged woman with the spending power of a prestigious trade prince. Bathing in gold certainly looked desirable from the outside looking in, but this lifestyle wasn’t her; it wasn’t Syrahn.

An accident in the Walk of Elders forced her carriage to take the long way around in order to reach the Bazaar, but the ride through the Royal Exchange brought forth a wave of memories; her encounter with a demon hunter interested in her bounty, the numerous conversations with old friends and bitter enemies alike, meeting all those colorful people she regretfully forgot the names of -- it all felt like a distant dream. She couldn’t help but gaze longingly at the shimmering fountain where she spent hours upon hours sitting in the nearby grass, completely consumed by a fantastic book. Syrahn took those years for granted, convinced she would be a relatively unknown girl few would care about until the end of her days; how she missed those simpler times. They turned the corner beyond Farstriders’ Square and briefly strode by the majestic Sunfury Spire before wisely rushing through the aptly named Murder Row.

Her heart stopped fluttering once she entered the Bazaar. It was fairly empty as always, save for the crowd of people following behind her carriage. The doctor’s office was larger than she remembered, but she didn’t have much time to think about the booming business before her carriage slowed to a halt. The Countess reached out to open the door, but it appeared to be locked from the outside. Before she had a chance to react, her gaze settled on two of her guards rolling out a long carpet between the entrance to the office and her carriage. “Really, Zandis?! Unbelievable!”

Captain Zandis opened the door from the outside and reached in with an extended hand. “My Lady,” she couldn’t see his face underneath his enclosed helmet, but she could hear the smile in his voice all the same. “Your appointment awaits.” The crowd had gathered along both ends of the embroidered carpet, but her regiment of guards kept them beyond reach.

“I can do this.” Syrahn briefly touched her burning cheeks and inhaled sharply before taking his gauntlet.

Her face flushed red the moment the crowd gasped at her attire. Her dress was woven from the giant firemoth silkworms of the Firelands, causing her to seemingly crackle from a thousand cinders dancing off her bodice. A heavy gold chain hung loosely from her neck, supporting a heart-sized ruby encased in chiseled amber. Her gloves were encrusted with dazzling void diamonds from the deepest reaches of Blackrock Mountain, and long elegant heels were tipped with tigerseye gemstones shaped to look like hawkstrider talons. Her elekk ivory crown was fitted with white gold, giving her a glowing halo in the bright sunlight. Lastly a satin gold scarf was entwined between her arms and draped over her bare shoulders. Syrahn felt like a chandelier in this outfit, and she dared not look down lest she be blinded by the reflected light; to add to her embarrassment she was forced to walk slowly in her unconventional heels, or she risked tripping and bouncing her face against the cobblestone street for all to witness. “We will wait outside, Countess.” Zandis started, before turning his back to the building. “No one will disturb your meeting.”

Sitting alone in the doctor’s office was one of the most uncomfortable moments of her life -- in recent memory, at least. She kept her hands busy by turning her crown in her lap for what felt like the better part of the afternoon, but she was far too distracted by her own concerns to complain; they uncovered the worst news she could ever hear the last time she visited this place, but if she was to accept her condition and move on with her life, she needed to be absolutely sure.

Syrahn stiffened once Doctor Falo stepped inside. “Thank you for waiting patiently for so long, Lady Bloodfeather. I could’ve given the results of your blood sample much earlier, but you did insist on checking everything.”

“Yes, that was…” Syrahn couldn’t find the right words to accurately describe that uncomfortable ordeal. “D-did you discover anything…?”

“We did.” He sighed, pausing only to sit in a nearby chair. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Are you ready to hear what I have to say?”

A cold chill ran up Syrahn’s spine, and she took a deep breath to brace herself before speaking. “… yes. I’m ready. Bad news first… please.”

“You have a defect in your heart that’s aggravated by stress. I can only hazard a guess at how much trouble running your Amber Glade can be, but if you don’t find an outlet for your anxiety, your first heart attack may be your last.” Doctor Falo watched her reaction closely. “Also your eyes. Your retinas are wearing out faster than they are supposed to. At this rate you’ll become completely blind within the next century… sixty years at the earliest.”

“Can’t I simply heal it with the Light?” Syrahn asked, now self conscious about her heart pounding against her chest.

Doctor Falo gave her a weak and unconvincing smile. “I’m afraid not. Magic can heal wounds, for a time, but both of your ailments are more or less genetic. For example: if a warrior is crippled from a blow to his spine, magic can put him back on his feet. However if a child is born crippled, there’s nothing that can be done.”

The thought of suffering from a lethal heart attack induced by anxiety and stress made her anxious. Most of her life she worked to attune herself to the Holy Light, and yet she was still powerless to save herself from these plights. “This is… terrible. I can’t believe there’s nothing I- wait, that’s it?”

Falo looked puzzled. “Ma'am these are serious problems. You need to watch your stress levels.”

“But I was diagnosed with her-ahhh… well you know…”

“Your blood is clean. I’d recommend eating more vegetables and less red meat, but aside from your heart and eyes you’re in immaculate health.”

Syrahn wasn’t convinced. “Are you absolutely certain? Doctor Tsurathiel told me otherwise… are you saying she was wrong?”

“She is never wrong.” Doctor Falo assured, smiling briefly. “However the goblin interns working in the lab that processed your sample certainly could be; they often mix up labels in an effort to cut corners... that’s what we get for hiring foreigners, sadly. But don’t worry! I went back there and did your tests myself.” He paused to glance down at his clipboard. “Which... leads me to the good news.”

“That wasn’t the good news…?” Syrahn stiffened up again. “Well what is it?”

“When we took your urine sample we ran all the tests we could, upon your request, of course. It came back negative on everything… except for one.”

“Huh?” The smug grin spread across his face only made his elusiveness all the more confusing. Instead of speaking plainly, Doctor Falo slowly rose from his chair and handed her his clipboard. Syrahn scrunched her nose at the fine print, wondering if her vision was already beginning to fade; her eyes stopped at his elegant handwriting underlined in red, and her whole body went numb.

“Congratulations, Lady Bloodfeather.”

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 20

Master/Jealousy ( @daily-writing-challenge​, @syrahnbloodfeather​ )

World: Warcraft

Theme: Anilah - Medicine Chant

They have been at it for hours. Hours! Lord Victor Sunpath was working his charm on Syrahn, who in turn giggled at every cheap and unfunny joke he made! Ijiro was white hot under his collar, the Retainer forced to accompany them as this smarmy bastard pulled every trick in the book to win her affection; and to make matters worse, it seemed to him that it was working! Syrahn never took her eyes off the rich oaf, grinning ear to ear as they walked circles through House Sunpath's newly planted gardens. Every time he brought up her hand to gently kiss her knuckles, Ijiro had to fight the violent urge to draw his sword and risk it all… but he knew he would lose more than just his one last chance to win her over -- a great deal more.

Victor Sunpath was the firstborn son of a powerful house. His family was renowned for their paladins, templars, and inquisitors, as well as their affinity to dragonhawk taming. A union with House Sunpath would give Syrahn’s family the leverage they needed to keep their rule absolute; it would ensure House Bloodfeather would not and could not be overthrown by any would-be competition. Moreover he was handsome, striking, and bold. Rumor has it he’s unmatched with a lance and has remained undefeated in every jousting tournament he’s ever participated in. A true knight in shining armor.

Meanwhile Ijiro was lowborn gutter trash, his “powerful house” shamed, exiled, and destroyed decades before he was even old enough to open his eyes for the first time. He was conceived in the back of a seedy tavern, his equally lowborn parents rushing to wed once they were aware of the pregnancy, but it didn’t do him any good; he was so poor he might as well have been a bastard in the eyes of all these lords and ladies. Everything he earned, Lord Victor was born with. Ijiro learned how to fight in dusty alleys, underground fighting pits, and on war torn battlefields. He fought hard and dirty as befitting a man of his stature, and every scar was a lesson. The Retainer wasn't much of a looker as a result; the deep gashes across his mouth had caused just enough nerve damage to slant his smile, an eye was pulled out during his time as a prisoner under interrogation, and his body was disfigured from sixty long years of hunting and mercenary work -- he even lost most of his toes to frostbite due to having poorly made shoes when he was just a boy. Most of his injuries could still be fixed through magic, of course… but he was proud of them all. Until today.

Syrahn was red in the face from laughing. She was definitely enjoying his weak jokes more than Ijiro was comfortable with, but what could he do to stop this madness? He was her Retainer, not her husband, and if this continued down the path he feared it would go, he would be Victus’ retainer soon as well; the very image of standing guard beside their bed chambers on their wedding night was enough to make him queasy. He forced himself to pretend to patrol around the gardens to “keep a watchful eye” on their surroundings, but truth be told, he couldn’t stand being around this man. It was agony watching her giggle at his every attempt to make her smile. Agony!

She was his lover! It was his name she gasped out in the early hours of the morning! It was his touch she craved when they were apart! How could she even entertain this fool and his pathetic attempts to win her heart when it already belonged to him?! Why would she do this when she knew it was killing him inside?! Ijiro closed his eye and swallowed his anger, knowing his temper would do him no favors in this man’s fortified garden. The better man in him knew Syrahn was only doing her duty to help protect her family, but the lowborn merc in him wanted to bury his sword so deep into Victus that only the destined ruler of Quel’Thalas would be able to remove it!

“Ah, ever the dutiful retainer you have!” Hearing his voice made Ijiro’s pointed ears twitch, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at them chortling on the bench beside the sparkling pond. “Is he always so paranoid of danger? We’re in the heart of my estate! There’s no need for such precaution!”

He grit his teeth before thinking, “I’m looking for any witnesses to your grisly murder you stuck up sack of-”

“Jiro, come here.” Syrahn commanded, offering a tender smile. “Lord Victus was just talking about his accomplishments in battle, and I want to show you off.” Helpless, Ijiro spun on his heel and approached them. Thank the Sunwell he was wearing a helmet to hide his scowl.

“Haha, is that right?” Victus stroked his chin while he looked the Retainer over. “Well, I’ve won first place in the last seven tourneys. Archery, fencing, and jousting. Some would find my skill with a pole most impressive.” He said that last one while winking at the Countess, causing her to giggle again. “Tell me, how many tourneys have you participated in, good sir?”

Ijiro swallowed again to take great care in his tone, but even with all this effort he could not mask his disdain. “None. My accomplishments occurred on a real battlefield. Unless my Lady took interest in watching comfortable knights playing at war, you would not find me within a hundred paces of a tournament or their foolish games.”

Victus raised his eyebrows in surprise, while the color drained from Syrahn’s face. “Is that so…?” He asked, grinning. “Quite a sharp tongue you have there. Is that how you lost your eye?”

Ijiro slowly turned his helmet to stare at the nobleman directly. “I lost it from loyalty to my Lady.” He coldly explained. Syrahn kept glancing between them, the roaring laughter and playful remarks had abandoned her; if this lord wanted to poke the hornet’s nest, he better be prepared to face the stingers.

“I’m absolutely famished…!” Syrahn sighed, quickly deciding to change the subject before all pretense fled with the wind, drawing Victus’ inquisitive stare away from Ijiro.

“Then we should eat at once!” He rose to his feet and gently took her by the hand, causing her Retainer to tighten the grip on his sword so forcefully he could almost hear the boiled leather straining beneath his fingers. Once she was on her feet as well, he shot Ijiro a daring smirk before pressing his lips to her knuckles again. For half a heartbeat it looked like Ijiro would do it -- but he relaxed his shoulders and turned around to resume his watch on the road. “Come along, my silver-tongued friend. Mother is cooking a meat stew so creamy it’ll lighten anyone’s mood… mayhaps even yours!”

Syrahn giggled again, though the gusto wasn’t there this time. Ijiro clenched his jaw and counted to ten, waiting for them to pass so he could follow closely behind. As Lord Victor pointed at a mundane statue to explain who it was, Syrahn quickly glanced over her shoulder and gave Ijiro a comforting smile. A game, perhaps? Was she pretending to like him so as to not cause offense? Would she not accept his hand in marriage once he propositioned her after all?

Ijiro could only hope. Until then, however, he would have to endure this insufferable banter.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 6

Festival ( @daily-writing-challenge​, @syrahnbloodfeather​ )

World: Warcraft

Diing! Doong! Diing! Doong!

The cathedral bells have startled Syrahn every hour since midday. This was the seventh time since she was ripped away from her peaceful slumber, and it would be another three before she tried to fall asleep again. The little girl cupped her hands over her ears and prayed the ringing in her head would leave as quickly as it came, but she was never so fortunate. Her eldest brother Kiash once told her the cathedral was going to be torn down soon on Lord Kael’kro’s request, and no one was more eager for that than Syrahn.

She sat at the end of the great hall, hugged tightly by an ebon gown and a gold crimson corset with a gold choker dangling around her neck; as per customs each person of any house is encouraged to wear their family’s colors, and the little girl was eager to match with her brothers and sisters. She watched elves waltz around the dance floor in tune with the band in the distance, but she was hardly interested. They were either old men with thin grey hair or too bland to look at for too long. But in the corner of her eye, one man stood out above all the rest.

Sir Renart Andu was easily the fairest elf Syrahn had ever seen. His armor looked like solid gold and likened to a fierce dragonhawk coiled around him, starting from his left thigh with the dragonhawk’s head resting silently on his right shoulder. His crown of silver hair glimmered in the light, setting the little girl’s heart a flutter. He was the knight she envisioned when Viridias would read her stories. She clutched her chest the moment he stopped to look in her direction with a slight smile she wouldn’t soon forget, and she questioned if the Gods were favoring her this enchanting night. She quickly ran her tiny hands through her thick auburn hair to let it cascade down her left shoulder just like her sister Miriam did, hoping it would be enough to gain his undivided attention. Sir Renart approached with a commanding presence, and Syrahn swore she would faint if he called her name.

“You must be Lady Lirindas. Word around the hall is you aren’t particularly enjoying yourself tonight.” He spoke with a voice as smooth as silk. Syrahn’s heart dropped into her stomach while she shot her wild glare back and forth between this dreamy knight and her undeserving teen sister. Lirindas was wearing a similar gown, corset, and choker, but she looked so uncomfortable in all of it; she never had a taste for the finer things in life, and was therefore forced into this getup by their older sisters. Lirindas blinked while she gazed fearfully up at the towering man, hesitant to speak.

“W-well I…” She choked on her words, unsure how to respond. Sir Renart flashed his perfect teeth and extended his hand, sparking a flame in Syrahn’s stomach.

“May I trouble you with a dance?” He was so polite, and Lirindas was so awkward; she had the audacity to ignore his gesture and turn to look up at Viridias.

“Go ahead, Liri.” She commanded, nodding to her. “It's rude to deny him his request.”

Syrahn couldn't take it anymore. “What about me?!” The little girl squeaked, crossing her arms with her bottom lip sticking out at them. “I wanna dance with Mister Renart more than she does!”

“I'll dance with you after your sister, okay?” Renart winked while Lirindas sheepishly took his hand. Syrahn was not satisfied with that answer, but his smile prevented any more words from slipping from her tongue. She watched in furious envy at the Knight taking Lirindas into the crowd. He held her right hand firmly yet gently, and placed his left hand on her waist; out of the corner of Syrahn’s eyes she saw her quiet brother Vraln lurking in the darkness on the upper balcony of the great hall, watching Lirindas and this touchy stranger like a protective bear watching his cubs play in the forest. He was a man of few words, but the hardened scowl plastered on his face told Syrahn all she needed to know. Lirindas stumbled during their waltz often, and although she was too far away to hear, it was clear she was apologizing while she avoided eye contact.

“Patience, sweetie.” Viridias brushed Syrahn’s hair away and gave her a wet smooch on her forehead. “You'll get your turn soon enough.”

“But it's not fair!” She protested. “Lirindas doesn't even like dancing! Look she's stepping all over his feet!”

“It would be too difficult to dance with you. You would barely be able to stand higher than his waist.” Viridias didn't like the idea of an older man dancing with Syrahn, especially after seeing the little girl's failed attempt to seduce him. “Perhaps it would be better to dance with someone closer to your age? His brother seems cute enough, don't you think?”

“No.” Syrahn pouted, glowering across the hall to see Sir Renart’s younger brother standing with his back pressed against the wall. Nothing could convince her that Rethandus Andu was worth dancing with; he was so small and nervous beside his father, threatening to shrink away and vanish into thin air if a woman so much as looked in his direction. In her frustration Syrahn vowed to never dance with him until he became a shining knight like his coveted brother. “Andy Andu is the stupidest name I've ever heard.”

Viridias glanced down at her with disappointment but said nothing, silently wishing she would take interest in boys closer to her own age. A guard stepped forward from behind and whispered something in her ear, stirring her to rise from her seat. “I must be off, Syrie. Stay on your best behavior.”

“Buh-? Where are you going?” The girl asked, tugging at her sister's gown.

“Family business that needs my attention.” Viridias smiled, gently squeezing her hand; it was the same vague answer she would always get when her older siblings didn't want her involved, and whenever she heard those words it only made the little girl angry. She was a Bloodfeather just as much as they were, but they sheltered her from family affairs like she didn't belong. Viridias turned to the guard and gave him a modest curtsey. “See that our youngest angel doesn't get into any trouble for me.”

“Yes, Lady Bloodfeather.” The guard glanced down at Syrahn through his plated greathelm, compelling her to stick her tongue out defiantly. She had no interest in sitting here to wait and see if Sir Renart would make true to his word; he had broken her sacred trust already. She needed to escape and see what she was missing, but in order to do that she needed this guard out of her hair.

“Excuse me, Mister Guardsman.” She cleared her throat and mimicked her sister's elegance as best she could. “Could I please have some wine?”

“Absolutely not. Your brothers would put my head on a spike if I have you alcohol.” He grumbled, resting his gauntlets on his belt.

“Then perhaps some juice or water?” Syrahn prodded, ignoring his irritated groan.

“Your legs broken? Why can't you get it yourself?” The little girl lifted her gown just high enough to flash her shiny new boots.

“Viri tied my boots too tight and now my feet ache.” She lied. “It hurts to stand on them right now.”

The guard gave her an indifferent huff and waved his hand dismissively. “Didn't seem to be a problem when you wanted to dance with Prince Charming over there.”

Syrahn puffed her cheeks out while she bit her tongue, fearing she would say something that would ruin her chance of escape. “Mister Guardsman…” She started through clenched teeth. “Please… my throat is itchy and I am very thirsty…”

“Fine.” He said, sending a rush of relief through her; but that sensation was short lived, replaced with startled confusion the moment a silk ribbon was draped over her head and tightened around her waist and arms.

“W-what are you doing?” Syrahn squeaked for the second time tonight, glaring angrily up at this bold man.

“Making sure you stay put while I fetch your Majesty something to drink.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and the illusion of calm elegance she worked so hard to maintain immediately vanished the moment he tied her to her chair. She kicked and flailed wildly in a desperate attempt to free herself, but she lacked the strength to tear through the silk ribbon, and the weight to topple her own chair. The guard’s laughter rang in her ears while he vanished into the crowd toward a waitress. She was able to regain her composure and calm down once he was out of sight, convinced her act was enough for him not to suspect her plan. Slowly but surely she wiggled the ribbon up to her chest, and without a moment to spare she began furiously nibbling.

Syrahn’s tiny elven teeth were still sharp enough to cut through the silk with relative ease. With a surge of her savage strength she ripped through the remaining threads keeping her bound to the chair, jumped to her feet and looked around for the closest exit. “Hey! HEYYYY!” The guard shouted, clutching a bottle of milk in his hands. “Where do you think you're going?!”

Syrahn’s mind raced while she whipped around and clutched her gown tightly. She wasted no time using her size to her advantage, allowing her to slip into the crowd and disappear under the tide of colorful dresses and nameless faces. He followed in pursuit but it was no use; in his encumbering armor he couldn't keep pace, and her auburn crown of hair dipped between two gowns and vanished like a leaf in the wind.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 16

Sincerity/Sorrow ( @daily-writing-challenge​, @syrahnbloodfeather​ ) 

World: Warcraft

Content Warning: Gore and Death.

Syrahn's tent was smaller than she liked, with far too many novice healers to babysit, but at least it was warm. The dirt beneath her boots was covered in a thick layer of permafrost, forcing them to wear ice-climbing boots during their shifts. Bloody bandages overflowed in the corner bin, empty mana potions were scattered around the encampment, and the only source of light came from a handful of torches fighting against the unforgiving cold of Zul'Drak. Day in, day out, it was nothing short of chaos. She was scrubbing her arms clean when she heard the bell ring again. Four helpers pushed through the flimsy tarp doing its best to keep the cold out; and they brought in her next patient.

"What’s the call?" Syrahn asked, air-drying her hands. Right away she noticed the injured man wasn't Argent Crusade; every now and then the Horde or Alliance would be brought in, but this time felt different. His Gilded armor glistened in the flickering torchlight despite the mud and bloodstains, his long crimson cape was tangled around a flailing arm, and he was clawing at his face with a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

"Acid by the looks of it!" She could barely hear her helper over the screams.

"LIGHT SAVE ME! IT BURNS! IT HURTS SO MUCH! OH MERCIFUL LIGHT! PLEASE! PLEASE SAVE ME!"

"Hold him down!" Syrahn commanded, as they went to work. She doubled up on two pairs of leather gloves before she worked on his straps, but he wasn't making it easy. He couldn't stop thrashing, as blood mixed with a sickly green discharge ran down from the eye sockets of his helmet. Just as she feared… the face guard had melted shut! "Damn it… I need the breacher!"

"Here!" Her assistants gathered to fasten the device to his helmet, even as he continued his bellowing. Syrahn turned the winch until it couldn’t be shaken off, then after a few clicks, the lever would no longer budge. “I said hold him still!” They struggled to keep his arms down, and one kick with those big boots of his would send one of them through the tent. “Ready? Three… two… one!” The Priestess gripped the handles and gave it the hardest tug of her life; within a heartbeat and a half the helmet warped at the neck and she pulled his head free.

Half of his face was gone! A bloodied mess of slime and bone screamed up at the sky! The stench struck them all at once -- most of her helpers heaved and retched, but Syrahn’s been exposed to such horrors more than once! “Keep him steady!” She barked, tossing the ruined helmet aside. Holy light filtered through her rubber gloves to caress the struggling soldier’s face, but to no avail; the unholy slime was negating her magic! He continued to scream incomprehensible nonsense, occasionally begging for mercy or miracles, but mostly for death. He was bleeding out through his face, and at this rate his skull would be ruptured to seal his doom. “Snow! Get me some snow!”

“Ma’am?!”

“I said get me some snow damnit!”

The two helpers who haven’t been much help at all for this patient went scampering out of the tent, but they didn’t have to go very far. Almost immediately they returned with their arms filled with the white powder. Using dirty snow wasn’t exactly ideal, but Syrahn was out of options and out of time. Against her better judgment she held his head steady with all of her strength, feeling the acid dripping onto her gloves to eat through it like flame eats parchment. Meanwhile her helpers buried his face in the snow, muffling his screams, albeit barely. Another burst of holy magic lit up the tent, even as the snow melted quickly against this unholy flesh-eating bile. But when Syrahn wiped away the gunk with what remained of her glove, most of it was removed. The Priestess yelped when she felt the bite on her fingers, and thrashed off the glove before the acid made a victim of her too -- one last volley of holy magic engulfed the soldier’s head, and then at last it was done. He had 

“Check his pulse!” She clutched at her trembling hand before dunking it in her washing bowl.  A few of the helpers ran outside to empty their stomachs, but thankfully one assistant had the resolve to press his finger against the poor human’s neck.

“He’s gone, ma’am.”

The woman should have been used to it by now. Patients dying was an inevitable occurrence… especially here in Northrend. Most patients these days died on the way to her care, but it hurt every time; their faces were burned into her memory, and these scars she would carry for the rest of her life.

“Ma’am…? Orders?”

Syrahn opened her eyes and looked down at the soldier’s half-eaten face. His skull over where his right eyebrow used to be had been eaten through by that insidious acid, just as she predicted. “Bring…” She paused, plucking a towel from the pile to drape over the man’s head.

“Bring in the next one.”