Soryne

“What’s your name?”

The night elf looks up through a curtain of green hair, surprised.

“You speak Common?” she questions, rubbing her wrists where they had been bound.

“Yes. Darnassian, too, but I’m worse at that. Now, what is your name?” I ask again, sheathing my dagger.

Thought I'd whip up some quick signage for Fancy Cakes -- Aestan's idea, really. Not my best work, but it does it's job. ;)

              Zaraek Starstriker felt the screaming wind as he drifted in and out of consciousness, hot even in the night, falling free, glimpsing stars whirling around him as he streaked toward the ground like a descending dark angel.  The long locks of his white hair whipped across his face, stinging as he spun.  Still, he could feel Llyriana’s heart beating his, deep in his chest – with each throb he wondered, would this be the last pulse of life…?

 A long, long time ago…

The paladin sliced and hacked her way through a mob of humans. One by one, they fell before her blade.

Healing a few wounds with one hand, she riffled through the bodies for the various items she searched for. A twig snapping behind the elf caused her to whirl and slash out. A woman fell to the ground, slashed from shoulder to hip.

“Damn,” the elf cursed in Orcish. “Where the fel do they come out of?”

A whimper from behind a tree silenced her. She stalked around, blade drawn, to see a little child.

“Damn,” she repeated. The little girl sniffled pitifully.

“Mommy?” she asked in Common. The elf sighed, sheathing the sword.

A young blood elven girl sits on the balcony of a townhouse in downtown Silvermoon. Her short red hair is pulled back in a tiny pigtail, barely longer than the width of the band holding it back. Her long, short-sleeved shirt flaps a little over her loose pants as she leans over the railing to wave at another woman on the street.

The woman waves back. She looks a few years older than the other girl by human reckoning, with a similar face and identical hair color. She has a fairer complexion than the girl, however, and her hair is tied up in a loose bun. After the wave, she walks away in the direction of the less popular districts.

The girl on the balcony sighs and sits down in a chair with a young tiger lounging under it. She pulls out a small book and starts to write in it with a pencil.

The worst part of sleepwalking through life is the occasional waking nightmare.  I’ve been going through the motions for weeks now, trying my best to do normal things, trying to find the way back from the dead to the living. 

 I never thought I would be a bounty hunter. It’s never really been a childhood dream of mine, or some such thing. Still, a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do. Zaraek rides up the road at the time we had agreed to meet, knocking me out of my reverie.

“Glad you could get here so quickly,” I say, hopping off the graveyard fence I had been sitting on. “Do you know the way?”

“Good to see you,” my fellow bounty hunter replies.

 Chapter Eight, or, The Alternate Ending- Tristan Again

“Light, Caelian. Tell me you’re lying,” I say, my voice breaking with my heart. Tears group in my eyes. “Tell me you’re lying!”

“I’m sorry, Soryne. I’m so sorry,” she whispers. I cover my face with my good hand and sob.

“He can’t! He can’t be dead! Tell me you’re lying, Caelian,” I beg again.

“I’m sorry, Soryne,” my friend repeats. “Is there anything I can do?”

I shake my head, tears flowing freely. “No... no... no...” I moan. She touches my shoulder lightly, and then I hear the rustle of cloth and the door closing softly.

“Tristan...” I whisper through my weeping.

“Sister...” she whispers. And she holds up the charm my father gave me when he told me of my parenthood.

But it’s different. Mine is looks brand new, a tiny silver sword inside a glass teardrop. The one Soryne holds is old, the glass scratched. The silver looks more like it is iron.

I look back at her- Soryne, my half-sister, the one they told me about. Her eyes are closed, and she dropped the pendant. I check her pulse quickly. She’s alive, just unconscious. Like Saemèr.

“I don’t understand...” I whisper, but I know she can’t hear me. I sheathe my blade, and drag her to the makeshift shelter Saemèr and I have been living out of. Then I drag over Saemèr, who is harder to manage.

 I step into the clearing. I’m due north of Brill, and the forest is dense and dark. It’s malevolent and... drippy. I sidestep a trickle of water falling from one of the trees. Probably a gnomish spy, peeing at me. No, probably not.

I’m wearing my work mail- mismatched green and grey and brown, along with a brown shirt instead of my usual red one. My hair still shows against the forest scene, though.

“Alenei!” I call. “Alenei di Capernio! Come out, Alenei!”