#tyleril
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Tyleril for @tyleril-silversword
Thank you for commissioning this lovely boi!
Just a reminder I am also active with a new Twitter and Instagram!
twitter.com/Rishnea
instagram.com/rishnea_art
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not alone
“Moonveil??” The voice seemed at least as much frustrated as it was confused, but there was an audible sigh of relief when Lyrenn nodded yes. The strangely large crate was thrust forward against the blond’s chest and the moment he’d taken control of it the courier retreated. “Direct to you.”
Ah, no wonder he was annoyed. He’d spent who knew how long searching for Lyrenn while the druid had been hours in the forest doing.. whatever druids did out there. At least as far as the poor frozen courier was concerned. Putting his hands to his mouth to blow warm breath between them, the elf turned on his heel and was away to deliver less bulky things.
Lyrenn watched him go for a moment before looking questioningly down at the crate. A note taped to the top had him hurrying to his tent. His bunk mate was missing for the evening- likely on watch or enjoying a night of stories about a fire- so Lyrenn plopped himself down on his bedroll and reached to ignite the flame in the lamp hanging from a pole in the center of the tent. The faint light was more than enough to read the letter by
Son- I found this animal not far from the camp with others that were to far gone for me to save. I did what I could- the paw has frostbite and I fed her some water and dried meat from my rations- but she has not taken kindly to me. Would it be to much to ask if you could watch her until the morn? I wish I didn't have to ask and burden you but I fear leaving her alone and you're one of the few the Light has whispered can watch her. If you cannot send her back with the Courier. Be good. I love you. -Tyleril
P.S. Her name is Skritches.
Lyrenn stared at the note for a moment, lingering on the last line before the post script before a noise from the box had him reaching for the lid. An immediate whirring growl split the silence. He paused, setting the lid of the box down and peering into the crate. Inside huddled a fox cub. She had shoved herself into the corner furthest from him, tail curled around as if to hide her. Her ears flattened and a sound somewhere between a whine and a warning came again. She was white, though the tips of her fur seemed almost blue. Dark eyes watched him warily, and Lyrenn turned to pull his meat rations to him. He was suddenly thankful he’d kept them.
“Here now bit, be calm.” He fished a piece of jerky from the tin and offered it out, at the edge of the box so not to crowd her. At first the fox snapped, a high pitched growl bouncing around the box. Her shuffling let him see the bandage wrapped foot Tyleril had written about.
“I know...” He cooed, “I know.. you’re scared and hurt and alone. You’ve lost your family all at once and that should never happen. I’m sorry. I can’t bring them back or replace them, and it will never be the same. But maybe I can help a bit, yeah? You're not alone now. And happy will come again.” He watched her watch him, little head tilting a the sound of his voice. It would take a lot of this, he figured, before she chanced to take that meat.
“You and I have a lot in common you know. My brother would have loved you. My sisters.. would probably want to put bows around your neck..”
@tyleril-silversword, for mentions
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Gifts and Letters
It is a strange thing, when she finally pays mind to the holiday season and feels the impulse to do.. something, for once. It has been many years since she has had more than the smallest handful of people to give gifts to.
Through varying degrees of occult and official means, she sends out a variety of things over the course of several days, when the Archon turns the members of the Sunguard to their own business. Most of the letters are bewitched, unable to be read except by their intended recipients.
---
Aestus receives a leather armband with elaborate patterns seemingly burned into it, stylish but unobtrusive. On the inside face is inscribed in Thalassian script, “The night does not survive the dawn.”
My friend,
Of the guard, you are the first with whom I spoke besides possibly the dryest interaction I have ever had with the Scion. Though we have not done so in some time, I count you among one of my few steady friends. You have seen the darkness that lurks in the mid of my nights, as I yours.
Trace the script and read it aloud, when it becomes hard. In addition to it, I grant you one favor, to call upon my talents or resources as you will it.
@shampoocommercialelves
Westel is sent a box of pies, professionally made and still-fresh through some minor spell settled over them. In addition, a hunting knife that comes sharpened, its hilt carved and wrapped with artful patterns evocative of woodland beasts, with leafwork embellished along the spine of the blade.
Westel,
You were one of the first to show me friendship among the Sunguard. Three months ago I would not have called it that, but times seem to be changing. I thank you for the kindness, however small it may have been to give.
Where the hell have you gone? I miss Ithruiel. How dare you keep him from me.
@westelfirewing
Nuellen receives a strange, enchanted necklace -- a raven’s skull formed of blackened, petrified wood, attached to a thin, sturdy cord. A note explains its purpose to give the wearer resistance against ambient fel energy or exposure.
Swiftstrike,
Not a week passes that I do not think of my grandfather and how fortunate I was to have him. I have wrestled with feelings about his death for a very long time -- I don’t believe that I am yet done mourning, or that I ever will be -- but I am infinitely grateful to know that I am serving alongside some of the few Farstriders who served alongside him. Thank you.
@thedragonisaprincess
To Thanidiel is sent a cloak of brilliant, blood red fabric. Through some workings of alchemy, the cloak seems to be a remarkable insulator, despite its light weight. Some of the warlock’s sorcery is bound to it as well, and upon investigation it is revealed to be fireproof -- and furthermore, made to deflect magical flame and heat. The underside shimmers against the light with hues of orange and gold. An attached note reads, “This one won’t burn up. Use it well.”
Highdawn,
It has been some time since we have spoken, regrettably. I am still bitter that we did not get to face off at Shadowsunder’s tournament. Though through battle I have regained familiarity with my sorcery and its limits, I would still test it against you when you are available. Consider this a challenge.
@thanidiel
Caelinda is given a pair of boots, sturdy, stylish and well-crafted. Enchantments scribed onto the seams ensure that it will last an eternity of travel -- in addition, the monk feels a little lighter on her feet, when she wears them. To accompany the gift is an ornate brooch fashioned out of gold and ruby to affix to a cloak or scarf, and a batch of festive cookies that are still warm and fresh through some minor spell.
Caelinda,
There are few words to describe the depth of affection and fondness I have for you, however much I may loathe to show it around other people. You have given me a sense of peace and welcome that I have not had in such a long, long time, and I am grateful for your love. I will strive for all my days to be worthy of it.
@superspicedinosaur
Tyleril is sent a piece of everburning coal, infused with sorcery. It is warm to the touch, and a note explains that it can be activated and deactivated through a command word. When active, it effuses strong heat and flame, presumably to be used in the forge or a fireplace. The note warns not to hold it at inopportune times.
Silversword,
Thank you for hosting me in your home the night of the bonfire party. I know that I can be abrasive at the best of times, but it is appreciated, and I wish your business good fortune.
Keep the coal out of Samiel’s hands. That boy has fire in his eyes.
@tyleril-silversword
Vaelan receives a bottle of fine wine, Suncrown vintage. This brand is only seen on shelves practically once in a blue moon -- she must have been holding onto it for some time.
Vaelan,
You’re a fine man to work and drink with, though I fear I tend to grow only more abrasive when inebriated -- but I appreciate your friendliness, and our banter. Put this wine to good use. It’s far too damn fancy for me to drink it myself straight from the bottle, and I’m less inclined to put myself into a stupor on a regular basis, nowadays.
@greatmaulsoffire
A book, old and ornately bound, is sent to Veleth. It appears to be an in-depth study and analysis of extraplanar phenomena, as well as the planes themselves and how they intersect with the material world.
Ashcaster,
I had never expected to find a kindred scholarly mind among the Blood Knights. You are a steadfast ally in battle, and I appreciate your respect and curiosity for my studies. I hope that we both might benefit from learning into the future, with Argus on the horizon.
@veleth95
To Synthiel, a Reliquarian’s sanction for the regulated study and use of alchemically-synthesized anima.
Cloudseye,
It is refreshing to speak with another pyromancer on a level of exchanging knowledge and technique, and for that I thank you -- I have not enjoyed the privilege for a very long time, different as our disciplines may be. My expertise in commanding Wrath hones sharper by the day, and I have you to thank in part for that.
@spiral-seeker
For Ka’ese, a potted Thalassian plant, with delicate leaves in hues that range from scarlet to gold -- it is bright, and fragrant. A piece of home, preserved through magic that is clearly not the warlock’s own.
Brother,
Past our twenty-fifth year I did not think I would ever write to you and say ‘Merry Winter’s Veil’ ever again. I’m still not certain on how to feel that I am doing it now, but I know that I should, after everything. So much has changed since our reunion in Azsuna. Argus yet looms in the sky, and you should know that I intend to see this war to its end. I hope for your health, through it all.
One day we shall spend this time of the year together again, as brother and sister.
@turalyon
The Magistrix Starshard’s gift arrives on the wings of a strange raven with eyes like embers, bearing the warlock’s distinct aura of magic. In a small leather case strapped to its back is a token -- metal fashioned into the emblem of the Sunguard, with its reverse face inscribed with Thinariel’s unique sigil -- and a message of rolled and sealed parchment.
Thradia,
I cannot even begin to presume what you may believe of me at present -- I apparently have an unfortunate habit for disappearing off the face of the world. You have the deepest apologies I may give, and the greatest hopes for your health and success. You are beautiful and strong, more than I could have ever taught you to be.
Know that I survive, and that I had no choice but to take my leave of the Black Harvest when Vataan abducted my brother from Dalaran (yes, I have a brother). Through his hand and mine, no trace of my tower remains in the Twisting Nether. Without my refuge, I serve the Sunguard. So much has changed that I cannot put to words.
Argus looms high in the sky; you know where I must be.
Stay the course.
@ladyliadrin
#winter's veil#the sunguard#aestus#westel#nuellen#thanidiel#caelinda#tyleril#vaelan#veleth#synthiel#ka'ese#thradia
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Master of Light (Prestige Class - Bloodsworn)
Blood Knight, you are. A true Master of the Light.
Remember that. You are more than Paladin. You are an Innovation; The Strength of the Sin’dorei; The Fist of Quel’thalas. Reach out.
Take it.
It’s yours.
It’s always been yours.
This joke of Divinity is nothing but a wind-chime snapping underneath our Storm. Yes - yes, it will bite. Bite like a cornered rat. Like shards of broken glass. You are stronger. You will heal. It will not.
Go on, reach out. Just like I told you.
Do you feel the way it recoils? Like a scared animal? It is weak. Frightened. What are you?
Strong, we hope. Brave, we hope. Merciless, we hope.
Enough to take from it. It resists you, you are the antithesis to its very nature. Are you strong enough to make iron bend? To turn away the hound’s bite? Make fire chilled? To turn something against its nature?
We will see soon enough.
When the first of our kind siphoned from M’uru, it was ecstatical and empowering. It did not come without its costs. For once our celebrations died, we found the weak in the darkness. Their temples were streaked with blood like riverstone. The ground of the Hall earned it its moniker heartily.
They were not worthy Blood Knights.
They were not true Masters of the Light.
Are you? We hope.
Curl your will around it now, like a fist. Dominate. There’s a blade in its hand. Like a desperate enemy. Squeeze its wrist. Turn it around. Bury that blade into its heart. Sup of the spilled blood. It is warm on your tongue, yes? Swallow. Push it down. Do not choke. Choke, and it will scorch your insides like fire in your gullet. Force it down into your gut.
Breathe, Blood Knight, BREATHE.
MAKE IT YOURS.
IT IS SEPARATE NO LONGER.
BEND IT.
CONSUME. CONSUME.
IT IS YOURS.
BREATHE.
Do you feel it now? You’ve struggled with it, wrestled with it. You’ve taken your prize. Your trophy. It churns within you like blood. Different, yes? Quieted. Tamed. Dominated. It comes to your beck and call like a hound now, yes? Go on.
Try it.
Call upon it as you do your own voice. Do you see how easily it comes to you? You’ve cowed it. Do you not find it laughable on how we once groveled to this? Do you see it for what it is now? This Light?
It is a tool. This is no icon, no divinity.
Divinity would not bend to us as this does.
We are beyond worship.
We are Blood Knight.
Masters of Light.
Rise.
My name is Thanidiel Highdawn, Knight-Master of the Order. I will be your benefactor from now on, Initiates. Do not disappoint. Your first order of business? Gather the weak. Dispose of them. There is a corpse-cart awaiting you in the Square.
Move.
Thanidiel awakens to the sear of Light in her vision, her blood. It is reminiscent to the overwhelming of the white flash of a mana-bomb going off. She’s used to it. Too used to it. The frequency of which her Light shot through her body, pulsing hot like a heartbeat, has increased since her enlistment into the Guard.
One. Two. Three. Big inhale. Count to ten. Big exhale. Count to ten.
Her head lolls to its left-side, eyeing that standing spear burrowed into the powdered earth. Her eye draws down to the shadow left at its feet from the light that enters through the open center of the tent-roof. Six hours into the new day.
Her head lolls to its right-side, greeted by thick tresses of black hair. A crushing moment after, affection blooms through the Blood Knight. Circulating through her body. It does not derive so much from the other woman herself, but of the more base stir for touch between oneself and their companions.
Before she rises, Thanidiel buries her face into that dark mass, her draping forearm braces gently across the other’s collarbones. A chagrined husk of a groan meets her ears a second later even as the Emberward is already rolling out of bed. She readjusts the furs.
Fire has died down to a mass of hot, red embers. The Knight-Champion is already striding to the opposite side of the large tent. Wood, split apart the day before, is brought and cross-hatched loosely. Dried plant is shredded fine into kindling in her hands, stuffed into the slowly heating spaces in between.
Bindings, socks, trousers, tunic. Gambeson, boots. Hauberk. Breastplate, faulds and tassets, vambraces. Gloves. Tyleril’s sword to left-hip. Fur-cloak.
….Eye-patch. Twist hair into a bun. Wet her mouth with a swish of flasked coffee.
There.
Her boots crunch into a thick layer of snow when she exits the tent, She makes sure to secure the flap well. She needs to do something. She needs to act. Her blood is throbbing with Light.
She makes for the training grounds. Thanidiel makes for the most scarce region of it – where spellweavers fling their magicks. She can feel the way that the air goes stagnant and warm from the saturation of arcana when she steps through runic borders. The chill of Northrend bites no longer.
It doesn’t take long from her passing into the warded area for the Emberward to call upon the energies roiling so violently with her. The floodgates open. Fury pours out of her. Torrentous and lashing, like belting waves of the ocean thrashing ships to pieces. The relentless heat of the flames she beckons makes her think of the foundries of Ironforge. Sinuses fill with the scent of ozone as the violet ward buckles – again and again – against whips of Light, the caustic air of scorched earth and the organic matter within.
This outpour of her choler provides no liberation. Instead, in the fashion of a wildfire eating through a forest, her exercise only serves to stoke the blaze to higher and ever-higher intensity. A pyre, a stake. It is consuming.
She can’t tell if its the smoke that makes her lungs spasm so violently in her chest or the rage within her. This wildness clutches her heart like a vice. There is no sanctuary for the Blood Knight in this ferocity.
How did she get like this? So tempestuous and out-of-control?
—Stop, that’s a foolish question. The answer is there.
The question… is the answer.
Fuck, she’s sounding like Ithanar.
She was always like this, will always be like this. Less elf, more brazen bull waiting for a gust of air to stoke the trembling coals inside.
This reintroduction to her Light, so wroth, fitful and ever-stirring, hasn’t made anything better.
She can feel the air grow inhospitable to life, slowly and surely, as she continues to thrash her flames into the magical barrier around her. Her eye catches the shining glint of steel in the haze of acrid smoke.
This Lightforged blade.
“A cold mercy.”
All poise and control. The submission of both metal and Light through will and hammer-beat. The thought turns in her head then, like key within lock. She had lost her way. Had forgotten what it was like, over the last five years, to bring Light under her heel, hold its collar in her grip. Calling upon these energies after such dormance, Thanidiel had wandered like a babe into forest - lost.
She can hear the vague surge of a growl, her?, in the din of the roar of flame and the crack of force striking the runic ward-shield around her. Something new churns in her, then. She recalls the lessons of old.
She squeezes the nerves of the wrist.
She turns the blade ‘round.
Breathe, Blood Knight, BREATHE.
Do not choke.
BREATHE.
It is separate no longer.
It is mine.
The last lash of her Light billows out different: no longer wild and dispersed like flame, but like the searing cut of a blade. Controlled, powerful, more deadly than one would ever think. The way that a pin penetrates cloth with ease.
“The delayed feeling of pain when a sharpened blade cuts through your flesh. A cold mercy.”
The shimmering barrier holds. One… two… three. And then tranquility shatters. Wind, so powerful as to drag the Knight-Champion to her knees like a rag-doll, pours over her frame as two systems become whole, and the universe asserts its need of equilibrium. The smother of smoke and dead air is replaced by the freezing chill of Icecrown.
The Emberward is almost keenly aware, then, of the glossy sweat that has poured in rivulets down her face. The cold is working to crystallise it already. She disperses it with the wipe of her leather gloves.
Blood Knight, you are. A true Master of the Light.
Rise.
(( @jessipalooza @tyleril-silversword @captainswingbeard for mentions and @felthier @thesunguardmg ))
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Razail: A Gift Delivered
Time seemed to crawl, each day longer than the previous as Razail waited with a gift to be given. It was simple, perhaps that is what bothered him, besides the fact it has been many days, nearly weeks, since he has last seen whom this gift is intended for. His heart starts to hurt each time his eyes catch sight of the small bag within his pack, each time his worry grows:
Are they alright? Will they like it? I miss them. Do they think about me as much as I have about them?
Finally he grew sick enough of wanting to give his gift in person that he was going to deliver it to their home, even if he doesn't get to hear or see how it would be received. Deciding to put on his old armor, black with gold trim that was mostly patchwork now, if you looked close enough. It made him feel more confident that he could hand his gift over into the hands of another that would surely deliver it to the person he wanted. Grabbing the small bag, Razail leaves the apartment of Tyleril Silverwood, without a word.
The rogue runs as fast as he can, remembering where he needs to go with ease. Getting closer to the beautiful tree, he slows down, admiring them as he passes over the old wooden bridge. The sight of the enormous mansion causes him to pause and grip the small bag tight. Razail debates on heading further, if his small gift is even worth the time to bother another with.
Hours pass with no one noticing his presence, and noticing someone move past the windows closest to the main door gives him a reason it would not be bothering them too much. His emerald eyes keep a close watch on the door as he runs up to it. A swift knock, and a hope that this can be handled quickly.
A woman answers, a servant, and before she can even speak Razail holds the bag out to her. “Can you make sure Lazarus gets this for me, please?” She nods, gently taking the bag from his hands and looks down at it while she speaks. “I certainly will ensure Lord Redmorn receives this. Who-” She looks up as Razail runs away.
His gift is delivered. Inside is an elementium ring, shaped as a leaf with a peridot gem within a spiral on the opposite end, and a bathing bomb of sorts, along with a tiny note written poorly but the best he can do:
Lazarus,
Thought of you.
Razail
@treyu @tyleril-silversword
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Tyleril’s new apartment. @razxion
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🌈
You’ve been a great part of the guild ever since you joined. While we don’t interact one on one much, I think you’re swell. Our styles of RP might be different, but that’s okay and I’m glad that you’re around.
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Patreon reward for @tyleril-silversword for @razxion
Tip Jar | Twitter | Patreon
#Warcraft#World of Warcraft#WoW#BlenArt#Blencem#Patreon#Tyleril-silversword#razxion#DK#Death Knight#Frost#Blood Elf#Sin'dorei#Alexander#Alexander Bloodshield
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Lyrenn had handed the ruffled hawk what few loose coins he had in his pocket before watching him walk away. Confused, he'd looked down at the package in his hands.
It took him literally minutes to cloister himself back in his bunk and tear open the unexpected mail.
There was a moments pause where he stared down into the mess of paper and twine before slowly reaching out and picking up one of two bracers. He marveled at its make, at the curve and design, at the bits of white glass embedded into its face. Fingers found the moonstone in the center, caressing over the gem before jerking back to his neck to pull out the pendant he wore. He glanced back and forth between them before a smile slid across his lips.
Excitedly the blond clasped the silver bracer to his arm, turning it this way and that to admire the look. A soft huff of a giggle escaped him and he glanced about the empty barracks before diving into the bundle to retrieve the bracer's twin.
@tyleril-silversword
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Least favorite human character(s) and A character you love that no one else seems to
Least favorite human character:His name is Spike, in the Optimus Prime comic. He’s inssuferable to me ! Acting like transformers areall big killing machines and that he did nothing nothign wrong while being the exact reason of many treason in the comic.I’d be happy to see him die.A character you love that no one else seems to:Honestly... none ? my big favs (Ratchet, Minimus/magnus, Optimus & Jazz) are pretty much appreciated by everyone. I’m pretty vanilla when it comes to characters xD I like the hero and hate the bad guy.I DO have the inverse tho: “Character that everyone loves and you don’t”.
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Happy Birthday! Have a good day!
Thank you!
#asks#world of rambles#i always feel so odd publishing things people send me on tumblr#diasifdkifshkifju#tyleril-silversword
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🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞
“Dad, it’s butt’s o’clock in the morning and I have class in a few hours. Why are we here?” Arae whined and lowered his head onto the table, “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I-I thought you’d like pancakes and you sounded awake already.”
“I was studying for class.”
“And your brain needs f-food, so what better place to come t-than here?”
“Did you just get back from seeing Dad?”
Tyleril’s eyes grew wide and he laughed, “W-What? What makes you say that?”
“It’s 3 in the morning and we’re getting pancakes.”
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Just friendship level please! Tyleril!
for the record im sorry my character is putrid lmao.
FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗
(how close a friend they consider them)
Thanidiel does appreciate Tyleril’s earlier gift of the Lightforged blade but ultimately doesn’t feel very friendly concerning him. Their personalities and goals/desires/etc. contrast heavily despite the easy and understanding enough interaction between them.
She’s a very detached character and as a writer I try to keep that up with a restrained mannerism that shifts between gracious and rude often within the same breath to many of her comrades amongst the Guard.
That’s a good indicator that she feels about neutral - tilting the scale one way or another dependent on the current situation and what that reveals about the other character to her.
@tyleril-silversword
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Isle of Stars: Chapter 1: Silent night, deadly night.
If one were to sail North of Lorderon, or West of Silvermoon, far enough away the two lands could not be seen, lied an island full of all sorts of life. First to be seen would be the Lighthouse, tall, slender and bright, warning of the rocky shores ahead. Next would be the outlines of the island, the large city-like estate reached to the sky, with the telescope and spires easy to make out. Further in one would have to navigate the rings of the island, a natural defense against siege by boats taken well advantage of. The trees were tall along the edges of the islands, with brushes thick so one couldn’t see in. Once passed the third ring the details could be seen: boats of all sizes lined up at the docks, magisters were unloading the cargo from the largest ships with care, and the only building on the island stood tall, and old.
One would have to pass the security put in place, in order to go into the main section of the building, or stay longer than the day. It was nearly a fortress, tall and thick walls infused with arcane magics new and old. A small canalway blocked entry by magic,allowing only those that knew the key to enter. Elves lived here mostly, but they allowed any with good intent to stay and learn history. Those of various professions were allowed to stay and learn as well, and they had their own areas to be: the tailors worked near the enchanters, and those were set near the library; alchemists were working alongside the herbalists, fishermen and cooks, each could help the other in their craft; the leather workers were placed between the two previous sections, as they could work with either; and across from the leather workers were the blacksmiths and engineers, jewelcrafters and miners, along with those that could wield and command flames.
There was an area too within the complex focused on religions and allowed all to come and share their beliefs, so long as there were no fights to be had, and each had specific times or days they were allowed to have a private time to pray and worship. There was peace among all, and near the main gate were the stables, beasts of all kinds were kept here and taught about, anywhere from how to brush and breed them, to their diet and fighting capabilities. This was an island of knowledge, with those of all walks of life allowed: paladins, priests, mages, druids, hunters, rogues, warriors, and even those a little darker in their magical tastes were, so long as they did not harm others and followed guidelines that were the dead stay dead and summoning was not permitted, nor were portals outside of the designated room.
This certain time of year was special, the heir’s children were coming of age to receieve their Stars, and their parents would govern the island until they would have children of their own that received Stars. It was bustling and the two young men were running around, causing a little bit of chaos here and there as they chased one another through the working people, but never caused a mess.
Throughout the night, Alexander had wandered across the waters thinking. He had gone back to Tyleril’s apartment to retrieve his armor, and then to the barracks for his weapon before departing. The death knight’s frozen steps crackle and echo under the sheet of ice that seemed to move with him. Coming up to an island that felt familiar, and once he stepped onto the land he could remember where he was. Looking around he came upon a secret entrance he and his twin knew of and the memory began to play. He followed it around the interior cautiously, as there were broken pieces of his home lying about, and the feel of danger in the air. The memory was of him and Rai'thas, and wherever the two of them went, anyone else near that they interacted with appeared. They seemed to stop in the smithing area, as both boys had interest in what went on there, and even had started to learn the trade.
A heavy clang sounds. A hammer striking the anvil and the sounds of a forge burning happen as Alexander steps into the smithinging area. The light that comes from the smithy’s rotting doorway is pale and inviting. “-And then they just let you go right?” Tyleril’s voice was clear, devoid of it’s normal stutter and filled with good humour. “Like the Magister would just let you go? Ha!”
Alexander readies his spear, taking another look around before he gently pushes the door open. Creaking from the old hinges, splintering of the wood that stuck as it had swelled, the door puts up quite a fight but doesn’t break. He looks in, curiosity barely visible on the death knight’s face as he focuses on the man speaking. He had seemed familiar. The two boys were nearby, pushing one another with one being put into a headlock, whining and kept there as the other laughed.
There’s no reaction as Alexander nearly breaks into the smithy. It was clear that nobody had been there in a long time. Everything was covered in dust and ashes. The roof threatened to break as rain began to softly land atop it. A ghostly image of Tyleril stands by the anvil, holding something. "You two need to be careful- wouldn’t do for you to get burnt, eh?“ It was clearly a younger Tyleril. The clothing he wore had been out of style for decades easily and his hair was tied in a long braid that went to his rear.
The young Alexander laughs loudly, messing with his brother’s long hair as the young Rai'thas flails to try and get out of his grasp. "We’ll be having something today! I bet Rai’ll cry.” "I will not!“ Pipes up the young Rai'thas, finally punching at his brother’s ass a few times before the young Alexander quits messing with his hair. The death knight looks on and slowly remembers that day, looking over to the smith and it hits him just as the younger version of him speaks once more. "You’ll come and watch, won’t you Mister Silversword? The whole island’s invited.”
“You two are turning- nineteen? Twenty?” Tyleril lifts up the weapon he is working on. The ghostly echo waved it in his hands. “How about I make you two a weapon since it’s such a special day for the two of you?” Raindrops slowly seep through the rooftop to land in the house, dripping and making puddles the echoes don’t notice. The echo of Tyleril turns for Alexander to get a good look at him- the blue and grey clothing he wore matched his blue eyes and wide grin.
“Twenty!” The boys say in unison, each with smiles from ear to ear, even if one was still in a headlock. Alexander’s eyes widened, how could he have forgotten this part of that day? They had met Tyleril! The young Alexander spoke up first, “A sword! I’d love a sword, Mister Silversword!” Rai'thas not long after, “Me too!” Rai'thas is pulled around a little, as his twin starts to try and turn them both around for fun.
The echo of Tyleril laughs, even when a piece of the ceiling groans and falls through the coloful echo. “You two are lucky there’s plenty of materials then! Go play with the practice swords and find a grip you like so I know what to do at the end, yes? I’ll get to work on this first one.” He smiles at Alexander and walks towards the death knight.
Alexander instinctively moves out of the way for the echo of Tyleril, still wondering why he didn’t remember this but soon he would understand why. The young Alexander starts to spin, with his brother in tow, letting the young Rai'thas go. The young man stumbles backwards and into a steaming hot piece of metal, crying out in pain as he was burned on his side. Alexander caused his brother harm, and that had wiped the memory of Tyleril out of his mind.
Tyleril turns. “Hey! Stop that!” The echo of Tyleril dropped the tools he held. The dust and mud beneath his feet didn’t stir as he ran to check Rai'thas. “Here, let me see. Let me see.” His voice is gentle and soothing.“
Alexander reached out, whatever was left of his heart aching as he saw what had happened, as the young version of himself backed up with tears in his eyes. The young Rai'thas was crying, not very loud as he didn’t want his brother to call him a crybaby.
The echo fo Tyleril shushes Rai'thas, smoothing his hair down as he brings up a hand that brightens with healing Light. He holds it over the burn. "It’s alright. Don’t worry- See? The Light is making it better and all you’ll have is a scar. That’s not so bad, right?” The color in Tyleril’s magical echo begins to leech away, fading to grey but the echo of him remains. After a long minute the echo pauses and leans back to look directly at Alexander- not through him or to something else. Directly at him. “Alexander?” The echo whispers.
The young Rai'thas quiets down as he is healed, nodding all the while his young twin runs off to hide. Alexander squints, looking behind him to see if the echo was speaking to the young version of him. But once he realizes it was to the one here and now, his frosty eyes widen and his voice answers with an echo of his own. "Yes?“ He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he’s already dead, what harm could come from this.
The echo of Tyleril smiled and hugged the young Rai'thas close. "You came back.” Although his smile seemed just as warm as it was when he tended the echo something felt off as he continued to speak. “There’s a chest behind you- would you get the spare sword I made for you? I always wanted to make a second one but my boat…did I ever leave?” Behind Alexander, left to rot in a corner was a chest that had rusted and sealed itself tight. The contents inside were likely still intact.
The death knight questioned what was going on, if the echo of his priestly friend was indeed talking to him. Alexander looked behind him though, finding the chest the echo spoke of. The young version of himself was hiding behind the chest, in tears. He approached it, knocked on the chest with his boot and then knelt down to open it any way he possibly could. The echo of his younger self was drawing his attention too, this was something he didn’t want to remember.
The echo’s voice is sweet and gentle to Alexander’s ears, washing away suspicion. “You might have to be a little bit harder on- yes, that’s it Alexander.” The color leached echo of Tyleril smiles as Alexander found the spare sword Tyleril had forged decades ago that had been forgotten and left in a trunk. “That’s good Alexander- pick it up will you?” Carefully the color leached Echo rocks the young Rai'thas- he seemed to have fallen asleep. Something might feel wrong , a bit off but the color leached echo of Tyleril was friendly. He was just trying to help…right?
Alexander reached into the chest, slowly grabbing at the sword with his free hand as his younger self now dashed off into another room containing a hidden tunnel the boys new of. Fingers gently gripped the handle and slowly removed it from it’s resting place. He rose, standing tall as he looked at the forgotten weapon from a forgotten friendly face. Why did this echo want him to have it?
The echo of Tyleril smiled and slowly rose up and the younger Rai'thas simply faded away. As the echo walked its braid swayed with its movements. “Very good Alexander.” It holds its arms out and begins to apply its magical charm to override Alexander’s will. “Hold the sword tightly, right? Don’t want to drop it.”
Alexander’s grip on the sword slowly tightens as the echo spoke. No, he didn’t want to drop it, it was something his friend made and forgot. He wanted to return it to him. Slowly the death knight’s frosty gaze moved to the echo of Tyleril, and the grip on his personal spear loosened.
Alexander is rewarded with an approving smile. “You know how to use the sword, right Alexander?” The echo clapped his hands. “I have a good idea. You ’ll appreciate this.”
Alexander nodded slowly. "What sort of idea do you have, Tyleril?“ He would do as the echo would ask, and follow him wherever.
"Kill me.” The Echo smiled warmly at him and held his arms out wide. The blue eyes still held warmth, the smile was still there- but something would linger that this wasn’t right. “And then you can kill yourself. It won’t hurt. Then we can go together. ”
Fingers, already touched by death once, tighten on the forgotten sword’s handle, and the spear clanked as it now hit the floor. "Kill you, and then myself. As you wish, Tyleril.“ Alexander slowly removed himself from the smithery and back off of the island, heading towards Silvermoon and the apartment of Tyleril Silversword.
Story written with @tyleril-silversword as part of a longer story to introduce my twins, Alexander Bloodshield and Rai’thas Starshield’s home island.
@thesunguardmg
#tyleril silversword#tyleril#alexander bloodshield#alexander#rai'thas#rai'thas starshield#isle of stars#the sunguard
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Happy birthday! Have a good time!
oh thank you dear!!
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Happy Birthday! I hope you have a great day.
Thank you!!
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