Fall of the Demon, Rise of the Dragon

Eras past in a time forgotten by the common man, in a land so unknown to its current state it might be considered a kingdom of its own, a singular man rose to claim his house for his own. Not out of lust of power and grandeur, nay, this man took up this crown in the name of true justice and smote down his greatest enemy. A man who held such malice in his heart that breached even the plane of the family, and so he was put down akin to a rebellious hound. And so Vynlarion Highcrest the sixth did succeed his father.

~

The repetitive thunk of heavy armour accompanied the young man’s descent as Vynlarion hurried down the long staircase in the main hall of his grand home. Above, chandeliers hang silently, their flames alight with magicked flame whose fire never did cease and cast an ominous glow about the building. The massive doors to the hall stared out lifelessly before him, and the knight found himself ever eager to see them swing open and to be free of the halls of his father and mother. Through his descent his broadsword made loud contact with the stone stairs who resisted the cacophonous noise, however the golden haired man ignored it utterly. Vynlarion eagerly made his way to spar with his beloved cousin Taloxus, whom he had dueled with for seven centuries; since he was a boy, and so he was very eager to mete his cousin in battle.

Vynlarion donned simple armour for a noble; thick, protective plates covered his body and held a brilliant golden hue to them; many accent plates being covered in actual gold, whereas other places remained a shining silvery hue which seemed to illuminate the space around him. Pointed metal greaves clanked loudly as he skipped the last step and fell still with a loud clang of metal. Adorning his shoulders were signature pauldrons of his armour; one was a simple but effective thing, for its construction left it curved and sharply pointed away from his body, however the other was truly a spectacle. As if the metal were fluid, a golden dragon head burst forth from the right pauldron in a glorious display of elven metalworking. The eyes of the dragon were brilliant jade gems that sparkled vividly in all lights and gave the dragon a wise appearance. On his back he wore a long black bladed broadsword. The blade itself was inscribed with Thalassian runes of power and vitality, whereas the golden hilt too held small dragon heads roaring silently; a stark contrast to the sagely looking golden dragon on the man’s shoulder. The pommel was a finely crafted azure diamond that sparkled grandly as Vynlarion turned to greet a hurrying onlooker. With his smooth turn, the greatcloak that stretched from pauldron tip to pauldron tip fluttered lightly, its cerulean hues of varying degrees rustling with hidden chainmail underneath the cloth. Vynlarion smiled a strong hearted smile as he recognised the approaching man. “Adrynar my friend, have I forgotten something? Or have my wisened parents decided to try to stop me from venturing into the commons, as father puts it?”

Adrynar, who held short blond hair cropped, a darker blond than Vynlarion’s famous locks, chuckled, shaking his head. For a servant, Adrynar dressed well; he wore leather highboots, white breeches, an f tunic and a black shirt underneath, and such was likely a result of Vynlarion’s adoration of the childhood friend that Adrynar was. “No milord, I merely desired to wish you well and hope that you would best Lord Taloxus in your dueling, and of course…” The man trailed off as he removed his hands from his back, revealing Vynlarion’s dragon-helm, which was the likeness of a great wyrm in mid roar when worn, and offered it to Vynlarion, “and to offer your helm, for Lord Taloxus will not take the lack of head armament for granted, surely.” Vynlarion took the helm, offering a hearty chuckle in return as he strapped it to his belt, before running a hand through his long, regal looking blond hair.

“No, he will not, you are quite right. Thank you Adrynar, you may have assured my victory today. Tell little Lory and Xanlor that I will be late to dinner and for them to sup without me. I am sure they’ll be fine with this. And please assure that Lory does not go out into the wilds alone, I worry that father is too cold and mother too absent to keep her safe from her own devious manners.” Vynlarion spoke calmly as the two walked toward the doors to the Highcrest manor. As Vynlarion approached, two armed sentries hurried to their meeting point and drew open the grand wooden doors with a heavy groan of the same material. Sunlight burst into the formerly dimly lit entrance hall, for the great windows flanking the doors and lining the walls perpendicular to the doors had been shaded with thick black drapes. Sun shafts littered the marble floor and illuminated its beautifully crafted surface and bounced off the statues of his parents; one of a fine lady in a lovely gown and hair held in an up do, and another of a man garbed in typical regal doublet and slacks.

Adrynar nodded to a stable boy in the distance who hurried to find Vynlarion’s hawkstrider, and returned his attention to his liege lord; “of course my lord. Though I worry Lady Lorynthia will not take to my prodding kindly. She is no little girl and is almost grown. Nevertheless, I will convey your warm concerns to her and pray to the Gods she obliges your wishes. Enjoy your sparring, my lord.” As Vynlarion’s hawkstrider arrived, its reins not even touched as it happily followed the elven stable boy, the blond knight-lord bid farewell to Adrynar, mounted the great bird, and set off westward, toward the town of Suncrown Village. Wind pulled at his hair as he rode, sending the golden locks flying behind him haplessly as Vynlarion rode at full kilter. The esteemed Knight-Lord, still so young, delighted in sparring with his cousin and saw it as an excellent means of showing younger knights and aspirants that victory was all well and good, but a just and fine display of might and restraint together as one.

~

Lathinal arrived at the Highcrest Estate roughly an hour after Vynlarion had departed, and upon her pure white hawkstrider she cantered toward the stables. Her crimson locks tousled lightly as she set foot on the ground, momentarily finding her balance lost as she had been riding for so long, however righted herself with the aid of her purebred mount, and began pacing toward the large doors. The various guards bowed deeply as she approached, and she offered them a wave of her hand and a smile as she reached the doors. The sentries, accustomed her quirks by now, did not move as she waved a hand passively, the massive doors swinging open effortlessly. “Gentlemen,” she greeted in a calm, flowing voice. Adorned in her finest travelling robes made of pure white silk and with golden filigree, her very person radiated light and magical wonder as she entered the entry hall with the click of heels. The noble lady canted her gaze side to side as the gloominess of the mansion took hold, for the doors had all but closed behind her. With a decided frown, she waved her right hand in both directions.

The great black curtains that adorned the walls swung to one side on their sturdy metal runners. The hall itself was all but three stories tall and the windows themselves two stories tall themselves. Great panes of glass sparsely crisscrossed with black metal were exposed and from them the noonday sun shone through brilliantly. The chandeliers overhead, which were adorned with crystals hanging far and wide, erupted in a magnificent display of refraction as the light cascaded through the hall, illuminating the palatial hall grandly. Descending the singular large staircase which split two stories up in either direction to the wings of the house came two figures. One, a young lady, wore an ill-fitting verdant tunic which seemed to hang slightly too low and loose, and underneath a simple lady’s button up blouse. Coupled with a pair of simple black slacks and a pair of riding boots, she wore her hair in a ponytail down her back. Were one not paying attention to the more flowing form she held, they might mistake her for a boy. Next to her was an adult mage magister, adorned in a floor length white lord’s coat whose collar reached the man’s cheekbones. Coupled with his fine coat, the man wore an sapphire blouse covered by a golden gentleman’s tunic and a pair of white breeches and black knee high boots. Both held midnight black hair, however where the casual garbed lady wore hers in a ponytail, the man let his long hair cascade down his back.

The young woman hurried forth toward Lathinal and the two embraced warmly; “Lathinal! It’s been so long. Did you and Vyn get into a fight?” The younger raven haired woman inquired worriedly as she squeezed the crimson haired woman affectionately. Lathinal, only a few inches taller than the young woman, embraced her with equal love and adoration and spoke into the top of her head, “Oh Lory, you shouldn’t worry about such things! Your brother and I are absolutely fine. I’ve been busy planning our wedding, you see! Vyn keeps running off to spar with Taloxus; I think he’s just nervous and doesn’t want to mess anything up, so he leaves it to me.” Lathinal assured Lorynthia calmly as the two separated. Xanlor took a step forward, embracing the fiery haired magister for a moment before separating once more. The two exchanged smiles before Lathinal, Lorynthia and Xanlor headed toward the back left entrance of the main hall and towards the arboretum where they often spent much time together. Xanlor, summoning a book to hand, began walking behind the two as his azure eyes poured over the words with ease and speed. Lorynthia spoke idly as the three walked, explaining that her father had caught her in Vynlarion’s personal servant Adrynar’s clothing again and threatened to beat the ‘rebellious nonsense’ out of her, were she to not to conform to his desires. The altercation between father and daughter brought a frown to Lathinal’s pointed facial features, though she rested a hand on Lorynthia’s slender shoulder and spoke with as much reassurance as she could; “Oh Lory, I’m sure your father would not strike you. And if you did, surely Xanlor here would protect you.”

The two woman laughed heartily as Xanlor, without even removing his face from the book he was proverbially buried in at the moment and gave a passive “not unless you’ve got a few guards, Lory,” evidently having already tuned out of the conversation in favour of the tome in hand. Reaching the oak doors to the arboretum, they swung open with a flick of Lathinal’s wrist and the fresh smell of flowers and various flora graced their presences with the inviting smell of life. Xanlor looked upward for a moment before the three began down a winding cobblestone path in the flowerbeds toward a white-stone gazebo which housed various plush couches and chairs, enough to sit up to ten, in its covered area. Heels and boots noisily contacting the cobblestones as they walked, Lathinal explained that her and Vynlarion’s marriage was assured now, regardless of the latter still not having proposed, and that she looked forward to watching the famed Dragon of Quel’Thalas flounder with his words as he tried to propose. Her humor clearly just that, Lathinal took a seat in one of the egg shaped chairs constructed with the finely wrought golden metals that one saw all around Quel’Thalas. Her person rested against plush cushions as she relaxed backward, crossing a leg over another under her flowing white and gold robes, she folded her hands in her lap as Lorynthia continued to tell the story of her hunting trip with the guardsmen, even though the end result was her father finding her covered in filth and forest debris.

However, all three fell eerily still as a foreboding woman exited the path from the forest east of the estate. Garbed in a silken black dress, accented with crimson on the bust line and shoulders of the sleeves, she exuded a mysterious magic that always left Lathinal uncomfortable and worried. Her raven hair, only slightly greying; a shocking fact for a woman well into her two thousands, was predictably held in a fine braided bun on her head, with a few curled locks falling around her narrow face. Crimson lips remained impassive as she approached the gazebo, her black heels clicking on the cobblestones slowly as her languid pace took her a great deal of time to reach them. Upon her arrival, Lathinal stood tall before bowing deeply with her hands folded, red tresses of hair tumbling downward. “Lathinal, I was not aware you were visiting us today.” The raven haired grand lady spoke in a calm and calculated voice that almost seemed to echo in an unknown shadow, “but you are ever welcome here. I hear that I may soon be calling you daughter-in-law.” The raven haired fine lady spoke once more, receiving a single nod from Lathinal. “Not feeling like speaking? Dearest child of fire and arcane, you have nothing to fear from me. However, my husband…” She trailed off, “nevertheless, I welcome you.”

Lathinal sat once more as the other woman took a seat next to her. Her translucent black shawl fluttered around her as she sat, and Lathinal took note of how the fabric seemed to never sit still. Regardless, Lathinal spoke: “thank you, Lady Highcrest. Your lord son and I are very happy together and he is lucky to have such a unique mother to support him in his endeavours. Will you be attending the wedding?” Lathinal jumped slightly as a cup of herbal tea appeared next to her on the table separating her and Alenyia Highcrest, though took it and sipped quietly. Lorynthia and Xanlor had fallen silent, raptly observing their lady mother in her mysterious grandeur. Though Lathinal’s question seemed to offend Alenyia Highcrest, and the woman frowned a slight frown, before speaking: “Lathinal, you insult me with your thought of my lack of attendance at my youngest son’s wedding. Vynlarion shall have me at his wedding to you, for you are a fine lady and he, a distinguished knight.” Returning to an impassive demeanor, Lady Highcrest sipped idly at her own teacup as she looked to Lorynthia, scrutinising her garb, before speaking once more; “Lorynthia, dear. If your father catches you wearing such rags he will have your hide.” With that, in a flash of arcane and… something else… Lorynthia sat in a slender teal and silver dress, and her hair was left loose around her shoulder. Adorning the space above her bosom was a simple white-gold chain with a black diamond inscribed into a hanging pendant. Lorynthia jumped as her clothes magically changed around her, and began to fidget uncomfortably in her new garb as her mother ceased paying attention to her. “Xanlor, eldest son of mine, are the rumors true and you shall be taking up a position in the Magistry in Silvermoon?” She inquired of her oldest son, who simply nodded before returning to his book. “Well, I won’t bother you young ladies and gentleman anymore. Enjoy the gardens.” With that, Lady Highcrest rose and continued on her way, her shawl fluttering behind her, which was held loosely in the crooks of her arms.

~

 

Vynlarion stood breathing ragged breaths with his blade drawn and shimmering with a dulling magic to avoid serious injury. His armour was dented in various places and his helm felt hot and constricting. Before him, a man of similar stature to himself wore a set of silver armour adorned with gems and runes of power. This man, Taloxus, chuckled behind his falcon helmet and spoke tauntingly; “tired Dragon of Quel’Thalas?” Vynlarion stood tall once more and scoffed, before sliding his blade to the right gripping it with both hands and charged forward with speed beguiling his encumbered form. He swung his blade to the right with merciless power aiming for Taloxus’ shield arm, however the other knight raised his falcon crested bulwark. though the power behind Vynlarion’s attack dented the shield and Taloxus stumbled to the side, clutching his upper left arm for a moment, for the golden haired knight’s attack evidently did quite a deal of damage to the arm. With a few clasps undone, he dropped the heavy shield to the ground with a crash.

“The Dragon never gets tired, Falcon boy.” Vynlarion grinned under his helm as he jeered his cousin; “he merely waits for the opportunity to strike. You got cocky and you lost your shield arm for it.” Taloxus swore and peeled off his helmet; releasing shoulder length auburn hair to fall onto his smooth pauldrons. Letting his left arm hang at his side as he allowed it to recover, Taloxus now charged Vynlarion, longsword in hand, and swung for Vynlarion’s right armpit. The other knight rather awkwardly brought his much larger blade to bear, but he was too slow, and was only able to block the attack by pulling his arm into his chest and taking the hit as a grazing blow on his own upper right arm. “That may be so, drake, but I can be cocky because I will always be superior.” Taloxus grinned a devious grin as he continued his assault. The auburn haired knight swiveled himself around and struck his sword against Vynlarion’s in a hectic clang of metal on metal. Vynlarion bore his impressive strength forward, easily overpowering the one handed sword he fought against and brought the large blade around in a smooth arc, and it crashed into Taloxus’ midsection. The silver knight left forth a winded gasp as he stumbled backward, before falling onto his back. His thick breastplate was dented deeply in the centre, and he laid there, clutching the embattled armament with spasming hands. Suddenly worried for his dear friend’s wellbeing, Vynlarion hurled his blade into the ground, where it was embedded roughly a foot and stuck up like a great metal reed and hurried to Taloxus’ side, who groaned in pain, eyes clenched shut. “Taloxus! Are you hurt? Should I get a mender? We need to get this breastplate removed…” Vynlarion spoke in a deeply worried bass tone.

Taloxus shook his head, and spoke through clenched teeth; “Vyn… come here…” He spoke in a raspy, pained voice. Vynlarion lowered an elongated ear to the man’s head, where Taloxus’ brought a plated hand onto his more resplendent pauldron and spoke quietly; “you’re… really easy… to fool…” With that, Taloxus smacked his head against Vynlarion and shoved him to the ground before, in a smooth roll, retrieving his blade and swinging for Vynlarion, though the dragon-adorned man caught the blade between his clasped hands and threw it to the side, before with one hand, pulling it downward and the now revealed to be uninjured knight with it. Hurling himself upward, Vynlarion hurried to his blade and with a smooth unsheathing and revolving of his person, the blade was met by Taloxus’ longsword in another clash of metal, before a dreaded voice boomed behind them: “that is enough, you blasted children!” Taloxus’ eyes widened before he turned on a heel, sheathed his blade, and fell to a kneel with his head looking to the ground. Vynlarion turned, though kept his blade drawn. Before him was an elder elf garbed in a crimson knee length doublet cinched at the waist with a finely wrought golden leather belt and buttoned up the side of his chest, black slacks and knee high white leather boots laced tightly. The doublet the silver haired man wore was cuffed with elegant cuffs with golden thread and embroidery, and his shoulders were accented with finely crafted thick golden cord and small coiled tresses of a similar material hanging loosely. “My weak son and my worthless nephew, how you disappoint me. You flounder and fall like drunks! You are Highcrests and yet you fight like commoner swine.” Vynlarion’s incipid father pushed long silver hair tied in a pony tail off his shoulder and narrowed his gaze on the two of them.

Vynlarion’s own face contorted into a scowl as he heard his father’s words, though as he spoke he found himself to be eerily calm; “then mayhap you, father, could show us how true battle is done, hm?” His question was more of a dare, for Vynlarion knew that, given the opportunity, he could best his father easily. Though today, like many days before, would not offer such a relished opportunity, and Vornelius Highcrest the third shook his head and spoke; “I am an old man and you challenge me to a duel? Cowardly boy, you must get that from your mother.”  Vynlarion clenched his jaw, refraining from pointing out his father was the true coward in this situation. “Regardless, as I am returning from business with the Capital and the Convocation of Silvermoon, you can no doubt imagine my surprise to find my son, who should be lording our lands in my stead, outside of the estate and in the southern woods provinces. Tell me Vynlarion, is this how you treat all your obligations? Or is your family merely so unimportant that you cannot even bother to oversee their operations?” Vynlarion could tell his father was egging him on, and how he wanted to respond in kind, to yell and shout at his father for all the heinous lies he had just spoken. However Vynlarion once more, if barely, held his rage in check as his father slandered him and his friends. “I do hope that I don’t find your useless sister garbed in boys’ clothing again… Eugh, that girl is beyond useless; I do her flattery she does not deserve.”

“If you will excuse me father, Taloxus, I believe I am falling ill and must depart to cleanse myself of my ailment. Good evening.” Vynlarion said through clenched teeth and stormed off in the opposite direction of his father who, after a few cross words with an ever silent Taloxus, left for his own lands. Vynlarion stormed through the township of Suncrown Village, completely ignoring guards and civilians alike who bowed or saluted him with respect as he made his way to the great fountain in the centre of the town. Plated greaves leaving heavy and noisy footfalls as he stomped his way toward the fountain through the grass, he placed two hands on its stone ledge for a moment, taking a few calming deep breaths. After a moment, with a few buckles loosened, he removed his gauntlets and dipped his hot hands in the water, finding the cool liquid to calm his sore fingers which had gripped his now sheathed broadsword for hours up until this point. Cupping his hands together, he lowered his head and lifted his hands, now holding a small basin of water, and splashed his face, before merely dunking his head into the fountain, the cool water calming his anger and soothing his battle-worn mind and body somewhat. After a long moment, he removed his head from the water, his now wet hair and head dripping consistently. Finding a young boy staring at him with wide eyes and a towel in hand, the boy speaks quickly; “my lord! I was worried you were trying to drown yourself! My friends called me a fool, but even if you weren’t…” The boy trailed off, and offered Vynlarion the towel. The knight-lord took the towel and wiped off his head and patted his hair a few times, though let it otherwise air-dry.

Vynlarion fell to a knee before the young boy, though still remained taller than the boy. The young elf before him had blue-black hair that reached his shoulders and bright blue glowing eyes indicative of the child of magister lineage. “You’ve a good heart and strong conviction to morality and justice, young sir.” Vynlarion said in a strong voice, finding himself quite fond of the boy already. “I thank you for your worry, though your concerns are unnecessary; I am quite well. I was sparing with my cousin Taloxus and wished to cool off after a long spar.” The boy’s nervous gaze brightened after Vynlarion spoke, and he offered the knight-lord wide eyes; “You are Sir Taloxus’ cousin? Surely you aren’t The Dragon?” The boy inquired nervously, leaning in to inspect Vynlarion, who only chuckled. Patting the boy on the shoulder, the blond elf nodded; “I am Vynlarion Highcrest, yes. But you have me at a disadvantage, young sire.” Vynlarion’s words confused the boy, who opened his mouth to apologise, though the knight-lord spoke again; “you know who I am, but I have not the honour of knowing you. Tell me, what is your name?” The boy wrought a large smile at Vynlarion’s words, who seemed as though he could not be happier.

“M-my name is Tel’thun, milord Dragon! It’s such an honour – I read about your campaign in the Amani heartland and how you defeated an entire Troll warcamp with a third of the forces.” The boy explained quickly, and Vynlarion merely smiled and nodded; this was a familiar situation for the man and he had become used to young aspiring knights to idolise his most famous exploit. “Well then, Tel’thun, with your great heart, I am sure Quel’Thalas will be made a better place when you come of age. And when that day comes, find me; I would be honoured to take you on as a squire, then.” Vynlarion nodded once as he stood, and the boy quickly embraced Vynlarion, wrapping his arms around the blond knight’s waist, and Vynlarion rested his hands on the boy’s back, before the boy spoke one final time; “T-thank you milord! I’ll do just that!” With that, Vynlarion bid the boy farewell and made his way back to the stables to find his hawkstrider and face an unpleasant evening with his family. However, unbeknownst to him, more horror than he could expect awaited him this eve.

~

The sun had long since set as the Highcrest noble family sat around the long oak table. Normally able to seat twenty, the five Highcrests sat in uncomfortable silence as they ate their meals. At the head of the table was Vornelius; to his left, Alenyia, to his right, Vynlarion. Next to Alenyia was Lorynthia and next to Vynlarion was Xanlor. The silence of the affair was suffocating in the room and Lorynthia found herself particularly uncomfortable with the situation, all too aware she was least in favour with her father this evening. Trying to seem as small and unnoticeable, she sat in such a fashion as to almost be hidden behind her enigmatic mother whose gaze never seemed to settle on anyone or anything. Vornelius looked up sharply as Lorynthia accidentally made a sipping noise as she drank some of the wine in the golden goblet before her. Her father’s gaze narrowed on her as he inspected her, before speaking with a callous disregard for her feelings; “no boys’ clothing tonight? What is the occasion, Lorynthia? Have you a date with a stable boy? Perhaps one of the male chambermaids?”

Vynlarion looked up for a moment, appalled at his father’s words, though remained silent, deciding against intervening. However their father’s merciless remarks did not cease; “No answer? Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps it’s some commoner shit that’s swept you off your feet?” He inquired with malicious intent. Xanlor looked up from his plate for a moment, before quickly looking back down after his father sent him a cold glare. Vornelus rolled his eyes and spoke again; “still nothing? Can you even talk, girl? Likely not. Such an ill-borne child, I find it hard to believe you are actually mine. What a mistake you are.” His words caused Xanlor to let out a shocked gasp and Vynlarion to utter an aghast “Father!” Vornelius’ gaze snapped to Vynlarion who spoke firmly; “how dare you speak to your own daughter in such a contemptible way!” He snapped angrily, barking the words out enough to the point where the ever absent Alenyia even looked over at him. Once more, a heavy silence fell over the table as Vornelius and his heir held their gazes angrily. Though it was Lorynthia who broke their stare; with tears streaming down her face, she pushed her high-backed chair backward and stood shakily. Sniffling, she shook her head; “It’s okay, Vyn, really…” She looked to her father for a moment; “I-I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted, I’m sorry I’m a mistake!” She wailed miserably before hurrying from the room, a hand covering her face as she escaped her father’s miserable company. A devastated Xanlor rose from the table and hurried after her; “Lory, wait!” He call out and exited. Alenyia merely rose silently and with the clack of raven black heels exited the room with a languid stride.

And so Vynlarion and Vornelius were left at the table. The former glared at the latter with unabashed hatred, and Vynlarion found himself wishing for his father’s untimely death to the point he considered wrapping his hands around the elder’s man neck and ringing the life from him. His mouth turning into a decisive scowl, he uttered two words, cold and devoid of emotion; “you monster.” With that, he too stormed out of the room, regal looking clothes fluttering around him. Exiting the dining hall, Vynlarion entered the main hall and turned, heading up the wide set of stairs and turned right at the landing, heading up to the south wing. Passing by many doors, he hurried to Lorynthia’s room, wherein one of the double doors was left ajar and a few servants crowded around the opposite side of the room, speaking with Xanlor. Vynlarion nodded to his former heir of an elder brother and entered Lorynthia’s room. In the centre of the room was a large bed, framed with four high bedposts that curved elegantly toward the ceiling. Sapphire and golden bedsheets were crumpled under Lorynthia’s form as the young woman sobbed harshly into a pillow. Vynlarion glanced around a moment, noting the largely disused dressing table and the various wardrobes, armoires, and chests of drawers that littered the walls of the room, before he made his way to Lorynthia’s bedside and sat on the edge next to her, placing a calloused hand on her shoulder. The raven haired young girl, normally so strong, looked up at her elder brother with bloodshot, azure glowing eyes, before burying her face in the pillow once more, and spoke hoarsely; “I don’t understand why he hates me, Vyn, I really really don’t…” She said brokenly.

Vynlarion tightened his grip on her shoulder comfortingly, “Don’t worry about him, Lory. He’s just an evil old man. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Vynlarion spoke quietly, finding the art of being comforting to still be awkward and almost forced feeling; the residue of being the heir to their hateful father. “It’s not as though what he thinks even matters, after all. I’m sure –“ Vynlarion was cut off as the sound of something shattering erupted outside her room. Lorynthia looked up toward her doors, and Vynlarion shook his head; “you stay here, I’ll go look.” Vynlarion rose and walked briskly to the door, and left the room, closing the door behind him. However he found no disturbances outside the door; though the previously congregated servants and elder brother had left. Vynlarion, about to turn back to his sister’s room, heard a rare thing; his mother speaking; “Vornelius what are you doing?” The woman’s elegant and composed voice echoed in the direction of the main hall. Vynlarion hurried down the corridor toward the main hall, and found himself gazing en high on a terrible sight; his father held a gilded sword in hand and was bearing down on Adrynar, the dirty blond haired servant clutching his side. His once white trousers had been stained a deep red on the side that he clutched and he looked eerily pale. Vynlarion looked on with horror and appal as he raced down the steps, finding his mother situated a few steps down from the landing, watching the seen with long black brows raised in surprise.

“P-please, my lord, mercy… I meant no… disrespect…” Adrynar stammered weakly as he stumbled backward, only to fall into the wall. The young servant was still a great distance from Vynlarion; he was across the main hall from him and simply too far to intervene quickly. Vornelius let off a series of foul curses before shaking his head side to side, silver ponytail flipping back and forth; “you meant no disrespect? You lying shit! I heard what you said, you said I was a horrible father. How dare you question a man as important and great as I! Let alone on my parenting skills! Lorynthia is an aberration and a useless child!” The elder elf snarled the words out angrily as Vynlarion hurried toward him.

Vynlarion placed a firm hand on his father’s shoulder and spoke; “father, how dare you attack Adrynar!” His hand was shook off as Vynlarion continued to speak; “stop this at once, father, this is madness.” Adrynar shook his head and stepped forward abruptly. Time seemed to slow for Vynlarion as he saw his father’s sword arm raise and the blade extend outward, before finally piercing the flesh in front of Adrynar’s heart and slide cleanly through before, with the grating sound of steel on stone, the blade was buried in the wall and let go of by Vornelius. “How dare you speak against me, Vynlarion! Do –“ The man was cut off as a great cloud of shadowy magic enveloped the man and transported him away. At the base of the stairs, Vynlarion saw his mother’s eyes alight with violet power before fading abruptly. He knew of her dark magicks, but was largely unaware of what she could do with them. Turning back to Adrynar who gripped weakly at the blade embedded in his chest, the servant’s hands fell to his sides and his body began to grow limp, forcing the blade upward if he was not caught.

Knight took servant into his arms as he wrenched the blade from the wall and the latter’s chest, tossing it away haphazardly. Falling to his knees and laying Adrynar’s head across his lap, Vynlarion felt his heart clench in agony and the unfamiliar feeling of tears beginning to sting at his eyes as he saw the massive amount of blood pooling around the two of them. Vynlarion turned Adrynar’s face to his own, finding the servant’s kind eyes to be dim, but a smile graced his lips; “Vyn…” He spoke quietly. Adrynar had only ever spoke to Vynlarion informally in private, and the knight-lord soon realised the finality of Adrynar’s words, and clutched his hand in his own tightly, “No, Adrynar…” He said miserably, tears falling from his eyes and mirrored by those who leaked from the bloodied man in his lap. “I’m… so glad I could… know you…” Adrynar rasped as his hand began to lose its grip around Vynlarion’s and slipped out, though it was once more caught by Vynlarion.  “No… Adrynar! Don’t go, please…” Vynlarion felt sobs hampering his speech as he tried to say more, though Adrynar’s eyelids slid closed and his head fell to the side. Vynlarion fell forward, clutching his dear friend to his chest, weeping silently and feeling sobs wrack his body.

Vynlarion remained like that for what seemed like an eternity to himself, and even when his tears would no longer come, he held the still body of Adrynar to his chest tightly, desperately wishing and praying for his oldest friend to return to him and not leave the world in such a sad and terrible manner. However Vynlarion jumped slightly when he felt a slender hand on his shoulder and the sound of rustling fabric at his side. Lady Highcrest knelt at Vynlarion’s side, her head bowed in reverence for the fallen as she spoke; “we’ll give me a good funeral, Vynlarion. He deserves that much. I can see that you cared for him very much. Allow a poor excuse of a mother that much – to give your dear friend a proper send off.” She spoke with the same eternal composure, though an underlying pain was evident in her voice and Vynlarion nodded, before loosening his grip on the corpse of Adrynar and allowing the other servants to gather it. Vynlarion composed himself and spoke firmly; “keep his body in the cold cellar. We’ll bury him tonight. Ready a gravesite in the Arboretum.” His mother excused herself wordlessly, the servants retreated with Adrynar in arms and suddenly Vynlarion felt terribly alone. He wished for Lathinal, whose loving company could surely aid him, but she had no doubt been asked to return home when news of Vornelius’ arrival was made apparent to her.

~

No words were uttered at the simple funeral, and Vynlarion stood alone as freshly turned ground remained still before him. Garbed in black dress clothes, he held his head low, summoning up his courage to remain composed. However, he was startled when he felt a familiar set of arms wrap around his own strong arm. Looking to his right, Vynlarion found Lathinal garbed in a black funeral dress holding his arm in her own. “O’ my love, I am so sorry…” She spoke quietly, “he was a good man. I know you loved him very much…” She trailed off, merely staring at the unmarked grave of Adrynar. Vynlarion nodded; “the best kind of man; kind and good hearted… He never wanted to harm anyone, he just wanted to live a good life and be with the people he cared for… I remember… I found him on the streets in Silvermoon as a boy; he was just a street rat; no family, no home… But he had this kind look on his face as he asked if I could spare a copper for a loaf of bread. I felt so bad for him that I brought him home with me…” Lathinal nodded at Vynlarion’s words, before speaking herself; “so my love, what now?”

Vynlarion’s gaze narrowed with pure unaltered hatred; “justice.” He spoke the single word with conviction and strength. Lathinal nodded, and the world around the two of the faded away, before they reappeared momentarily in front of the doors to Lorynthia’s room. Lathinal removed herself from Vynlarion’s person and knocked on the door, before speaking softly; “Lory? It’s me, Lathinal, and your brother. Could you let us in?” After a moment, the door opened, though no one was there to greet them. Morbidly garbed, Vynlarion and Lathinal entered the dimly lit room.  A single candle sat on a nightstand, freshly burning and Vynlarion was abruptly met with an embrace from a nightgown garbed Lorynthia. He instinctively wrapped his arms around the young woman, unsure whether the embrace was meant to benefit her or him. Deciding it unimportant, he released her and spoke: “Lorynthia… Father has gone too far this evening. Saying such awful things to you and… and killing Adrynar.” He steadied himself, looking to Lathinal who nodded solemnly before speaking herself; “your mother’s told me of secret passages in the mansion; there’s one in your room that leads to the lord’s suite on the other side of the manor.” Lorynthia, still silent, raised a brow, suddenly all too aware what Lathinal and Vynlarion were planning.

Vynlarion procured a vial of clear liquid, and offered it to her; “this is lethal poison… It can’t be tasted or smelt. It’s untraceable since it’s made of common ingredients. I won’t demand it of you, but… I’m too big to fit through the passage and mother will sense Lathinal’s magical presence if she goes… Please, Lorynthia… He’s committed terrible crimes, it cannot be –“ Vynlarion was cut off as Lorynthia spoke; “I’ve been considering a similar plan myself… I’ll do it, Vynlarion. We need to be free of him, before he harms another one we love. For all the misery he’s caused Xanlor, for Adrynar’s death, for his hatred of Lathinal, and for his blind hatred of me… I’ll do it.” She affirmed herself and took the vial, before making her way to her wardrobe, and looked to Vynlarion expectantly. The knight-lord hurried over and, with a loud groan, the chest of drawers Lorynthia stood before was moved out of the way and a small passage was revealed. Cobwebs and dust coated its walls and it smelt of fetid water; evidently a ward had been put on the passage to not allow the smell to escape its reaches. “When I return… We’ll be free.” Garbed in only her nightgown, Lorynthia crept into the passage and quickly vanished from sight.

Lorynthia crept through the dank darkness that was the passage. Cold, wet stone assaulted her feet and cobwebs got caught in her hair as she walked, stooped over from the small height of the passage. ‘Vynlarion was not lying when he said the passage was too small for him… I can barely fit…’ She mused to herself as  she shivered from the cold of the passage. She knew what she was about to do pained Vynlarion greatly; to slay his father in his sleep was cowardly and weak, but… Vornelius the third was beyond kindnesses of that sort and all that awaited him was justice. The minutes dragged on for what felt as though it was an eternity to Lorynthia and anxiety wormed at the back of her mind; what what she was doing right? Could patricide ever be justified? Could a man so evil as her father truly deserve death? She shook the thoughts from her mind, she could not be worried, she could not be scared. This was the right thing to do; the only thing to do... She had to remove her fears from the equation, she had to become a true Highcrest; someone who was bereft of fears and emotions, someone who fought because they had to, because they were the only kind of person strong enough to fight.

Reaching the end of the passage, she stared at the back of a painting whose painter had signed the back many centuries before. Taking a deep breath, she felt her way around the edges of the paintings, feeling the cold, round metal of hinges on the right side in various places. With a sure push, the painting opened silently outward like a door, and revealed was the darkness of her parents’ room. The idle snoring of her father was evident and eerily close to her. Looking left, she saw that, no more than ten feet away, her father slept, however worryingly, her mother was nowhere to be present. Deciding she had best move quickly, Lorynthia procured the vial from a pocket in her nightgown and crept to her father’s bedside, eyeing the man disdainfully, mouthing the words ‘you won’t harm anyone anymore, you monster…’ With that, she turned to the night table which was just next to his bed, and on its surface sat a solitary glass of water; her father had once explained that he kept a glass of water next to his bed so that, during the night when he began feeling thirsty, he would not have to get up. Uncorking the vial, she poured the clear liquid into the depths of the glass and returned it to her pocket. Turning around, she was met with an unwelcome sight; before her stood above her, Alenyia Highcrest, the Lady of the house and the former Lady Duskwhisper. It was no secret to close family that she held powerful and mysterious dark magic.

The woman whose hair was held in a bun and wore a long, silken black nightgown, waved her hand and a shimmer of violet and black magics encompassed them. “He will not hear us now, Lorynthia… Why are you here?” She peered deeply at her, her eyes boring into her very soul and Lorynthia shrunk from her sight. The woman nodded to herself, “I see. You’re trying to kill your father… Good.” She said calmly, her words shocking her daughter, and Lorynthia took a step back. Once more, Alenyia spoke; “You foolish girl. Living with this man has been a nightmare worse than any amount of my magicks can create. Watching him run his mouth in hatred at his own blood… Having my beloved family all but destroyed and the…” She trailed off, and fell silent for a moment; “no, you will learn of that in time.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, the world around them became black and Lorynthia’s breath caught in her throat as it would no longer come. Panic crept at the corners of her mind as she felt herself become weightless and her stomach lurched uncomfortably. However after a few moments, life and light appeared around them as her sight returned to her. She was in her bedroom, and a rather surprised Lathinal and Vynlarion seated on the side of her bed. Alenyia nodded once; “Hello son, Lathinal.”

Vynlarion stood abruptly, “M-mother, why are you here?” He stammered momentarily, before composing himself once more. Lorynthia took a step forward, only to find vertigo catch her for a moment before she spoke; “It’s okay, Vyn. Mother knows what we’ve done-“ She felt herself cut off by her mother who placed a cool hand on her shoulder and her voice, confident and calm, resonated; “and I am eternally grateful. You three have freed me from my insipid husband. Vynlarion, the family and lands are yours. I will support this.” She spoke with a succinctness that seem to startle those around. Silence fell over the four as they spared glances. However, Alenyia’s gaze remained fixed on Vynlarion as she fell silent, her cerulean gaze piercing his as she ascertained her thoughts. “I will meet you in the Lord’s Hall tomorrow morning when Vornelius is dead, Vynlarion.” With that, her silken form was enveloped in nightmarish shadows that coalesced around her form in eddies and currents before she simply vanished from sight. Vynlarion, Lorynthia and Lathinal were left in silence as the elder lady left their company.

~

The following morning found Vornelius dead in his sleep, and thanks to the efforts of Alenyia, his death seemed to be nothing more than the passing of an old man in his sleep. The funeral was to be planned for two weeks from the current day, though Vynlarion found himself caring little. The great room he was seated in took a hopeful light on this day. The grand Lord’s Hall had its black current thrown open, and at the far end of the room on the massive stone dais stood a flowing, large throne-like chair which held the sigil of House Highcrest. A coiled phoenix held its wings inward like a shield and its head upward triumphantly. Double banners of the design were covering the wall behind him, and in the centre a massive window opened up to the Sin’Redar Province below. The windows lining the walls let the noonday sun shine in brightly and those gathered in the Lord’s Hall milled about before taking their seats. Vynlarion rose from the Seat of Highcrest and raised his hand into the air. The Knight-Lord wore his ceremonial armour, which was adorned with golden pauldrons that were erupting with opposing dragonheads. His breastplate was covered with the tabard of his house, and his pointed greaves gleamed with the sun that bounced off his priceless armour. Over his back lay his signature sword.

“Friends and family!” He called out, his voice echoing through the hall and quieting those gathered. With a quick look back to the Seat, whereupon he found his beloved and now fiancée Lathinal on the right of the Seat and his mother Alenyia on the left, the former offered a strong smile and the latter a calm nod. “Today we… lament the loss of my lord father, Vornelius Highcrest the third! But I implore you, sons and daughter of the High Home. Today is not a sad day! Today is a good day! A day of life and hope as it shines over us like Belore up above! My father is with his father and his grandfather, now, and so be it that we stand here, able and well to remember him for what he was.” Vynlarion chose his words carefully; it was no stranger that he himself loathed his father, but to outright admit he commanded the man’s death wa a dangerous thing to admit. Looking over the lords and landholders of the Sin’Redar Province which he now solely commanded, he smiled a great hearted smile. “I, Lord Vynlarion Highcrest the sixth, first Vynlarion to rule over all that which can be overseen from the Seat of Highcrest in five long generations, bid you welcome and home within the walls of our fertile valley! And unto the good House Duskwhisper of my mother, for the crimes committed by those who no longer stand here today, I offer unto them reparations and peace! And today I also announce my upcoming nuptials with my beloved, Lathinal Sunflame! Long live Quel’Thalas! Glory to the Quel’dorei!” Vynlarion raised a clenched fist into the air, whereupon those gathered stood abruptly, cheering and applauding.

Vynlarion turned and took his seat once more, deciding that there could be no better way to commemorate his father’s passing than doing something just for once in this house. He would not let the dark legacy of the name Vynlarion stain him. He would be free of it. He would be a good man. He would be just and true for as long as the woman who placed a hand over his gauntleted one; Lathinal. “We will be good to these people, Lathinal. We will be better than he was to his family.” Vynlarion assured both himself and his beloved. Looking down the dais, he saw Lorynthia and Xanlor sitting side by side, applauding him with relieved smiles.

Yes, he would be good to them.