Focus

Tiradell’s eyes opened in his room; the single candle in the room sufficient to see what he needed.  Information had been gathered, help summoned, and everything prepared.  He smiled, the first time in many days as he strapped his heavy armor and harness on.  Well we’re just going to have to go find her then, he remembered Raeril saying, feeling just as foolish now that he’d not thought of it himself.  He drew his sword from the rack, hefting it.  He pondered the blade, long and sharp, gleaming from hours of polishing.  His smile widened, teeth showing as he swung the sword up over his head, nearly slashing the ceiling.  “Once again,” he said, feeling the weight, relishing the strain on his muscles as he held it high.  The smile sealed itself once again as he swung the sword back, almost habitually, settling it into its harness.

His door opened and then closed, the blood knight stepping forth, boots stamping out a steady rhythm as he walked through the enclave.  The streets were busy, as they often were.  His eyes narrowed as he stepped into the bright street, walking toward the Exchange.  The surrounding Sin’dorei who walked the streets, criminal and citizen, fiend and friend, paid him no more mind than he did they.  He had a purpose, once again.  His mind was focusing, a few errant strands of thought still coming back together.  His time with Tana in Dalaran came to mind, the lovely evening they’d had together; dinner, watching the fights, and then breaking into the Silver Covenant’s beer garden.  You’re an idiot, you know, he remembered Tanakyll saying to him, the beer garden’s stillness broken by her harsh laughter.  Maybe he had been foolish to outfit Seven with the strongest materials known.  Time would tell.

The streets were bright and crowded; he took pride in watching people walk without their hands clutching whatever weapons they kept concealed on them.  He knew their smiles were not for him, but still they made him happy.  The years had gone by since the Dark Times, watching friends and family twist and warp into Wretched, watching allies draw blades against him.  Memories of desperation, of theft and murder, done in no name other than his own, for no reason other than to keep himself from joining the ranks of those driven mad, of redemption, finding purpose in the Blood Knights, oaths sworn to his brothers and sisters to protect the Sin’dorei, but also to himself, to never need to see another fall because of choices made by another.

His smile remained no matter how dark his thoughts grew, for he knew what he was going to do now.  No more watching demons play tag, mocking him with their frivolous actions, no more patching up young noblemen who got into fights.  No more watching and waiting, no more squeezing between love struck fools.  His stride quickened as he stepped outside the gate, to the stables where his motorcycle was kept.   He mounted it, kicking it to life, smiling again as he felt it roar underneath him.  This was what he loved doing, what he was meant to do.  Somewhere out there was a danger to his people, his friends.  He would take care of them, as always.