#flamearrow

It had been a long time since anyone had visited the Farstrider's grave. The unmarked grave would be easily passed over by the normal traveler, causing it to be one of the least visited graves in Quel'thalas. Not many knew of its location, which is exactly how the Flamearrow family had wanted it. The least amount of individuals who knew of where it was, the less of a chance a potential curious mind could find it. However, that wasn't the case anymore.

The ragged Elf's footsteps were slow, every step seemed to cause his bones to pop with each muscle movement. He was old, very old, and very frail. He wore a long black robe, which was accompanied by a hood to hide his features. With a completely hidden face, this Elf would be unrecognizable to the normal citizen, but should he be spotted – the way he walked, and spoke, would be enough to remind people he exists. He was not a healthy individual by any means, and his Elfish skin had begun to wrinkle atrociously.

He finally made it to his destination, the uphill climb proving difficult for his frail body. He was very physically weak, but there was something about him that made his physical aspects seem like a minor inconvenience. The way he walked, it was apparent that his body was merely a shell for him to enact his agenda, and he could care less at how frail and weak his physical self was

“Indeed, another one has fallen to the void's grasp.” He mutters, his voice coming out rough and jagged. The Elf would kneel down beside the grave site, running his hands along the soil, as his long fingernails dig into the earth. On his side, he had a bag, and within it, a black tome. The tome was decorated in black and gray designs; the frame of the book elegantly decorated by gray lines that outlined the entire book. “Another of the arcane has fallen and yells for mercy.” He opens the book about halfway, the book opening up almost on its own. He knew exactly where the spell he was searching for was at, and he found it with ease.

“More than two millennium of wait, the seed of the betrayer has finally ended. The last flare will succumb with ease. My task will be done.” The Elf would lift his head up and begin mouthing a spell, as he slowly begins to spread his arms apart. His movements were slow, yet steady. It was as if he was capable of ignoring what little muscle held his body apart at that moment, and chanted the spell with ease. A swirl of black wind would swirl around him, the dark gust of magic pulsing with purple at the edges of the magic. It was a beautiful sight to see to an observer interested in that sort of magic, but to anyone else, it would be rather terrifying. The swirl of black magic would swirl around him, increasing in pace as he continuously chanted the incantation by heart. Bigger and bigger, the gust of energy would increase in size with each excruciating second, drowning the hill in the black magic, just out of sight for any out looker not directly along the coastline.

In the blink of an eye, the magic would secede, and gather at the man's arms, before being launched onto the soil in front of him. Within seconds, the ground would pulse a dark purple hue, causing the soil to tremble as it is forcefully thrown from side-to-side as it is defiled. The magic continued on undergoing its torment to the earth, until finally, the dark purple pulse would die off, and fade. “Another flare for undeath. Another arcane to die. The seed is defiled. My task is finished.”

At a rather surprising pace, the Elf would hunch over, and fall on top of the defiled grass, his body going completely limp at the intensity of the magic. He lays there, as the grass and earth regain their regular composure, almost as if nothing had occurred there. However, after a few moments of silence, the earth would tremble again, and within seconds, would begin to rot and become weak. The soil turning into a black mold-like substance, which was weaker than mud at its wettest point. Upon the soil's desecration, a body would slowly be presented to the sun's wrath, seeing the light after such a long time once again. The body's eyes would open, and instead of those fel-green eyes it once wore before, it would awaken with frosty blue eyes. His skin had gone from peach to pale, the pale skin a testament to his duration underground. The once blonde hair was now completely white, eliminating any sort of color from his form as he had before. The only thing that stayed the same, surprisingly, was his face's structure, which was definitely a mystery within-itself.

The awakened Elf would slowly stand, but was interrupted by the now-dead necromancer. He lay on top of the undead Elf, to which he simply pushed him out of the way, and stood up completely. The feeling was odd – to be standing once more. The balance was off, yet he could keep himself up with minor focus. The feeling of the sun on his skin was oddly comforting, yet it felt like torture. “What... What am I?” The Elf's voice would come out ragged and hallow. He brings his hands up to his sight, the once-peach skin now pale. He turns his head to look at the dead necromancer, but thinks nothing of it, as he turns his head to regard Quel'thalas with curiosity. “Where am I?” He takes a step forward, before turning his head back again, as he slowly watches the Necromancer, before he turns to look at his grave site. The sight of the defiled grave was alarming to him. “Am I... Did I...” The lost reborn Elf looks at the grave site with a tingle of panic creeping up on him. “I am... Undead?” He asks, as he watches the grave silently, his eyes no longer needing to blink, and his breathing was kept at a bare minimum. It was like a cold statue staring at its designated target.

There was nothing in the grave that was terribly interesting for him. So he decides to move on. He makes his way down the hill, and approaches the coastline. He knew exactly what was around him, yet he didn't remember what this place was, nor what he was. He watches his reflexion on the water's surface, his eyes scanning his pale, half-naked body. His skin was still intact, the smooth skin seemed to have made it through undeath. He turns his head to regard the sky again, before he watches the large colorful woods of Quel'thalas. Knowing nothing ahead, he decides to return to the Necromancer, and kneels down to inspect the man. The first thing he found was the spell book that had been left open to a specific page by him, and that is what peeked his curiosity. His eyes gaze over the odd inscribed writing, none of it made any sense to him. He places his fingers on the book, and flips through the pages, yet he still had no luck in finding anything he could understand. He looks back at the dead Necromancer, and begins undressing him, taking his robes and placing them over his body. He puts the hood over his head, and sets the spell book in the bag. With a single hand, he lifts the now-naked Necromancer and throws him into the hole. The mold-like soil was still present, and the Necromancer quickly sunk into the depths of the soil, and was soon out of view.

He watched the Necromancer with an unblinking gaze, his face void of any emotion, and his body as still as a rock. He turns around again to let his eyes scan the Eversong Woods, and begins walking, to no where in particular. He would find out who he was, and if he didn't, then he would wander until he did. He did not need food, nor water. He did not need rest. He would wander forever with no purpose nor goal. Until one day he would find his answer, and perhaps then he could discover what his purpose in life is. He was reborn for a reason, and he would figure it out.

-------

“Mercy from the void will not come. Your purpose is set. Find the flame, and destroy the seed. Then your purpose will be complete. Then you will see rest. Then you will regain your memories.”

“From the void comes knowledge. From undeath comes resolution. Let your mind wander and adapt to the realities around you. Let your life be run by one purpose. Never forget why you are here. The flame's destruction will be your rejuvenation. The seed's obliteration will be your rest. The cycle will be finished. In undeath, you will learn the truth.”

“Flamearrow, I want this to be quick and clean. Got it?” Axel looked down at Orolian with a smirk, his arms crossed, as his followers stood behind him. There were three of his followers, all members of the New Blades group led by Turalyon “Axel” Bladescythe. The group worked directly for Xandiv Flamearrow, as his assassins, espionage, or any other sort of thing he needed done. They were ruthless, and very good at what they do. The three assassins were geared in leather armor, each sporting a set of twin daggers – all three of them looked identical. Their faces were all shrouded by masks, hiding any sort of facial expressions the murderers may show. “I know Xandiv would be very upset if we fail.” Axel would let out a small chuckle. The leader of the group was also geared in the same leather armor as the other Rogues, except his daggers were different – they were both identical, but each dagger had a unique rune marking etched onto it. The runes glowed softly in the night, making a small, yet unnoticeable light.

The Hunter in question simply looked up at the men, his facial expressions unwavering, as he simply nods his head. “Of course.” He says simply, no emotion in his words what-so-ever. The Hunter was geared in simple mail armor that Farstriders would typically wear; except his was a redder version of it. He carried with him a simple compact bow, and a brown leather quiver with over thirty arrows in it. Alongside the bow, Orolian carried twin daggers which he kept in sheathes on his sides; the daggers were simple in nature, a hilt and a steel blade, nothing too fancy like Axel's blades.

“Good. Don't fuck it up.” Axel smirks, as he nods to his men, and the four vanish from sight, leaving the Hunter alone to his own luck.

“I won't.” Orolian was left alone to complete the next stage of the mission. The Hunter reacts as quickly as they had left, and begins to move to the manor in front of them. The group had hidden a few hundred meters away from the building; giving them enough cover to speak and plot in private. But now Orolian was in plain sight, as the Hunter walks in quick strides to the Manor's door. It didn't take him long to reach the entrance, as his hand reaches up, and knocks on the door three times. He took several steps back, as he was quickly greeted by two young Mages. A male and a female.

“Greetings.” Orolian starts. The two Mages watch the Hunter warily, but nod in return, before Orolian would speak again, “I am looking to speak with your Patriarch regarding possible business between my Lord's house and your own.” While the two Mages would have rather confused and wary expressions on their faces, Orolian himself had no expression on his face; complete deadpan.

“Ehm...” The mages would look at each other, before the male would speak up and regard Orolian, “May I know your name?” He would ask, rather nervous in front of the heavily armed Hunter. It was evident that the Mages in question were both very young, perhaps in their late teens to early adult stage.

“Of course. My name is Quint Sheelwood.” Orolian's lie would deceive even the wisest of individuals, as his expression, and body language did not change; absolutely no expression or reaction what-so-ever in the Hunter's body.

The male Mage speaks up again, “Ehm.. Nice to meet you, Mr. Sheelwood... I am Taylion Syn'Thal, and this is my sis--”

“I can introduce myself!” The female would pout and glare at the male, “I am his sister, Raylie Syn'Thal.” She would smile at the Hunter, only to receive nothing in turn. The two siblings whisper at each other, before Raylie would speak up again, “Why would you come out here at such a late time anyway? It's so late!” The female Mage was obviously wasting time at this point, as her brother would sigh, and begin to speak again.

“Patriarch Gaius Syn'Thal IV is currently resting, I am sorry to inform you. I just scryed his room to see if he was available.” Taylion would receive an elbow to his side by Raylie when he said this.

“You did what?! If dad finds out we are in trouble!” She mutters to the male, as she crosses her arms and glares up at him.

“Stop! I know! But... Hey we have a guest okay?!” The Male would motion to Orolian, as he turns back to regard the man. “Ahem. Sorry about that, yeah.. He's unavailable. So you have to leave.” Taylion nods his head, as he bites his lip and waits to see for Orolian's response.

Orolian simply looks at the man as his hands go down to his daggers, grabbing onto the hilt of both of them. Raylie and Taylion both look at Orolian with nervous expressions.

“Uh... Mr. Sheelwood, what are you doing?” Raylie would mutter out, her body tensing up and getting ready for a possible fight, as Taylion does the same thing.

“I am here to speak with your Patriarch.” Orolian would say again, as he stares at the two Elves with the same blank expression. However, behind the two Elves, Orolian would spot two of the same Elves he had arrived with earlier. Their movements were silent, as they sulked in the shadows.

Without another delayed second, Orolian unsheathed both daggers and charged at the two Mages. Taylion would quickly raise a wall of frost, stopping Orolian from assaulting them, “Stop!” He would mutter, as his hands begin to glow a bright blue hue.

"TAYLION!” The Male's concentration was stopped as his sister was dragged back by one of the leather-wearing Rogues. “HELP!” She mutters, her eyes staring at his, as the one handling her silently moves his dagger to run straight across her throat; the blade easily making its way through any muscle and skin tissue she had, making it a quick kill.

“NO!” Taylion would try and avenge his sister, but Orolian had sneaked up behind him just as silently as the New Blades assassin had sneaked up on Raylie. He brings up a dagger to strike the back of the Mage's throat, the sharp steel going through the muscle tissue with ease, and instantly causing the Male to suffocate in his own blood.

When Taylion looked dead, Orolian removes his blade from the Mage's neck, as he cleans it on his victim's robe. He looks up at the two assassins, “Where is Axel?” He asks.

“Right here.” Axel grins, as he walks to the group with Patriarch Gaius Syn'Thal unconscious over his shoulder. “Good work chaps. This was easier than I thought it would be.” Axel would look at the people present, before regarding the two assassins, “Where's Willie?” He would ask the two Elves.

“He was finished off by---” The Rogue was cut off, as a blast of arcane was etched into his back, by a Female Magistrix who managed to sneak up on the group while they were busy. “FEL! GET HER!”

“YOU BASTARDS! YOU KILLED MY CHILDREN!” The female Magistrix was beginning to cast another spell, before the second assassin makes his way to her, quickly extending his hand out to strike her in the abdomen, but missed greatly as the Magistrix vanishes from sight, and reappears meters away.

She began casting again, managing to fire off a Frostbolt at the unharmed assassin before she received an arrow to her side. She would gasp for air, as her eyes turn to the man who managed to harm her, before vanishing from sight once more, leaving only a small drop of blood on the ground as proof she was there.

“So is that who killed off Willie?” Axel asks the first assassin, “C'mon, Johnny. How could you let her do that?” Axel would laugh, “To think, you were outsmarted by some old lady.”

“To be fair, Sir. Willie was the one killed. Felix and I are fine.” The Elf known as “Johnny” would look up at his master with a grin as he removes his mask, “Bitch got lucky I say.”

“Fel, you got burned more than I did Johnny. You gonna need a medic for that shit.” The other assassin known as “Felix” would mutter, as he examines his partner's wounds. “It's a real shame for Willie though, he was a good man.”

“Aye, a good man indeed. Whatch'a think Master Flamearrow? Did we do good?” Johnny would look at Orolian, wanting to see any sort of response, but laughed, because he knew he wouldn't get any. Orolian would simply stare at the group, no expression on his face; the same way he had been the entire mission.

“Don't bother asking him any questions. He doesn't even know how to measure how good something is.” Axel would laugh, as he repositions the Patriarch over his shoulder, “This little Flamearrow right here...” Axel would walk over and give Orolian a smack in the back, “He's a perfect little killing machine. That's what he is.” The Rogue would grin, “Oy, you fools did kill the rest of 'em, yea?” Axel would ask as he regards the other two Rogues again.

“Of course, boss. They died quicker than an old lady in her bed.” Johnny would remark, a grin on his face.

“Ye' kill old ladies now Johnny?.. In their beds?! How disgusting.” Felix would remark, but then laugh, “Ah, who am I kidding. We all have been there. Old ladies be fun to kill, I say.” The two Elves would laugh, and only receive a smirk from Axel.

“C'mon, bossman is waiting for us. Don't want to make Lord Flamearrow impatient.” Axel would command, “C'mon Flamearrow. Don't get left behind now.” Axel would remark with a grin. Orolian would simply obey Axel's commands, no grunt, no acknowledgment; simple obedience.

“I often wonder what happened in that Manor. I had only seen or been a part of two murders; however, on the way back, Axel had talked about identifying six people. So that means that four people were murdered that day, with one individual delivered to Xandiv for some reason I have yet to figure out, and the other escaping with her life – barely.... The sad thing is, the only reason they were targeted was because they shared our blood. They were innocent of everything, but Xandiv wanted them gone... because our blood lied in the Flamearrows only. Heh... How times have changed. I wonder if that woman is still alive... would she recognize me if she saw me?