#jacorek

Mentions: @divergent-lines​ @savianblackwood​ @neiablackwood​

With the door closed behind him, Jacorek decided that it would be better locked from the outside. Not that he believed anyone would be snooping around, but, simply because, he didn’t trust anyone in these walls. 

Its bad luck is what this is, he started to himself, making his way along the hallway. I knew Madivh wouldn’t be happy with any of this, but it still hurts, even if the swords are taking pretty much all that emotion away. And that woman finding out about Savian, bah, a snarl came to his lips as he walked. The one time that nobleman decides to punish me for leaving for a day without notice, he puts her in charge. Why couldn’t he just ignore it like he did all those other times? 

Jacorek quietly envisioned stabbing the man in the gut and, since he was at it, the whole operation. 

His feet took him outside, under a large tree in the corner of the property; the same tree he had spoken to Savian on the first day he had meet the kid. A cigarette had appeared in hand and was already lit and in his mouth before he remembered dryly how the swords would take away that pleasure.

The only pleasure they allowed him was that of killing and the thrill that came from that bloodshed; the feeling was surely amplified in some way to make it feel better than anything else the world could provide.

Parasites. 

He didn’t give the swords a single look. 

Jacorek enjoyed his cigarette anyways. A lifetime of smoking at least gave him the brief memories of what they used to give him. Plus, he knew the drug was still affecting him, the swords simply removed the feeling of the effect. His muscles would relax, and his mind would grow a little slower, a little less inclined to feel pain and emotion a like. A little more lazy in everything he did.

He enjoyed his taste until it was no bigger than a length of a finger joint before tossing it away with a quick extinguish of ice magic. 

Jacorek went back to his office, where a stack of new recruits, paperwork, and an envelope with his name written on it, front and center, sat on his desk. 

He opened the letter. 

Captain Jacorek Blackwood, 

Over the course of your time here working for me…

Jacorek folded the piece of paper up and tossed it into the fireplace; the cold wood would be getting warm soon enough. 

He spent the rest of the day filing away recruits, reaffirming what his men had already told him in their verbal reports of the worgen and kobolds that seemed to want to make his life more difficult, and the demands of the nobleman telling him exactly what shipments were coming in, which needed to be checked, and where they were going to be stored. 

Things he was certain his other employees should be doing; he was just a Captain of the Guard of his little estate, why did it matter if he needed to send men to double check inventories and make sure they were stored properly? 

Those papers went into the now roaring fire, engulfing the material in a puff of smoke. 

Once he was done with the paperwork, the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. Jacorek glared at the lowering sun with the single thought of half a day wasted. 

Through the second part of his duty, the men on guard were alert and well confident. Zach and the other had seemed slightly concerned upon his approach, but answered his questions and said nothing unneeded; a wise decision. 

The only issues he ran into was the training grounds. The men he sent for training were lazing about, unaware of his presence for a solid several minutes before he made his presence known. A quick scatter put these men into their places and the last bit of his day for the afternoon was over.

These men in training were still in no shape to be anything but their own lives, and that included his grandson. 

As the day shift switched to night, Jacorek informed the patrol route that he would be accompanying them, and that they were on standby and should make sure there weapons were sharp and their mindsets ready.

Now all he had to do was wait for Samantha to return. He did not doubt that the woman would be back before the end of the day. She would want her mad dog put under leash as soon as possible before changing his mind. Before making a risky endeavor. And he had thought of it, several times in his mindless walk around the estate. It would be easy too just kidnap two kids, dump them in the middle of the mountains, and disappear. 

Sure Mey and Madivh would be in a horrible way, but at least, they didn’t have them.

Ah, but, there would be no questions on their part. Mey would have his head, and he wasn’t necessarily against her taking it. 

As he made it back to his office, whisky in mind, he was only faintly disappointed to see Samantha sitting on his desk, with his own personal glass and amber liquid at her lips as if she was purposefully insulting him.

“Make yourself at home.” He said as the door closed. 

Two men in dark leathers made themselves known at either side of him, still as statues against the walls, eyes sharp on his back. 

He gave them each a nod as Samantha spoke, “As I own you, this is technically my room. So yes, I will.” She downed the rest of his glass. The whisky container she sat the glass down next too was a quarter of what had been in there beforehand.

He scowled. “I see we are celebrating already. Please, why not drink the rest?” He motioned to the bottle.

She scoffed, sliding off the desk and patted her hand on a piece of paper laying there; a pen in waiting. 

Jacorek took in a deep breath, now noticing that a shadow in the darker area of the corner had taken on the form of a man in black with a staff point sticking over one shoulder.

“Don’t trust me?” He mused as he stood beside her. The paper was already prewritten, and he could feel it drenched in magic. 

The words he did not care for. They could say whatever they wanted, but he gave them a cautionary look and was not at all surprised to see that in summary it was a binding contract that even a slave would find as a demotion in rank. 

“Safety,” was all she said. “Sign, and we can go on our separate ways.” She poorly hid her excitement with a growing smile.

“Hopefully,” he said as he picked up the pen, his finger poked at the end of it, and he began to sign. “This is all you’ll ever want,” he said as the swords removed the pain from his finger. 

He set the pen down.

Samantha immediately swept the paper up and walked over to her mage. He gave it a look over, his hand trailing over his signature. There was a single nod.

“Yes,” she no longer hide the giant smile on her face. “Indeed. For now, I won’t get in your way, but,” she rolled up the paper and waved it at his face. “I’ll have a job for you, a little test, just so you know whose in control.” She spun, red hair trailing after her as she made a straight line for the door. 

The mage, her black guard dog, and lastly the two rogues fell in behind her before they closed the door.

Outside, he felt the energy of magic bloom and disappear. 

Mentions: @divergent-lines @thefracturedmosaic​

Synric found himself running through a dappled sunlight forest. Long grass grew as high as knees, the wind rustled leaves and touched the tips of the grass below. The weight of his bow felt light and easy in his hand. He smiled as he walked through the forest. Not quite sure where he was going or why, he was content to walk through and take in the warmth and cool of the sun, and feel the wind against his face.

           He felt a give under his feet. Swiftly, he took the weight off his foot and spotted a nice long piece of wood. Arrows. A lightness at his hip was a sudden remainder. That’s why I’m out here. Talren will be upset that I used up all his arrows again and didn’t collect them.

           He reached down and picked up the piece of wood and stuck it into his quiver.

           Pieces of broken branches seemed to lay everywhere now that he was looking. Long nice pieces of wood he put in his quiver. Long, skinny, pieces of wood he set back down. Long crooked pieces that were thick and had only a faint bend at the tips, he put in his quiver. Crooked pieces that couldn’t be cut into straight slender pieces he set back down.

           Thus, he collected a totally of twenty pieces of wood and had set down forty.

           The forest hadn’t changed in all that time. The sun was still high and warm. The winds brushed by lazily.

           Still, plenty of time. He sat down against one of the trees, drew out his knife, and began shaving the unnecessary ends of the stick that would weigh the arrow down. A small pile of wood strips were sitting between his legs as four arrow shafts sat to the side.

           His fingers were beginning to ache, but it was a welcomed ache. Talren will never notice the difference. He thought rather foolishly. Talren always knew when replaced the ones he lost. Always.

           Synric felt himself tighten at the thought, looking down at his wood strips, the pile of clean arrow shafts. I’ve done this before.

           Clouds began to roll through, taking the sunlight in speckled waves before vanishing into a grey, dark mist. The forest had turned a darkened, unnaturally thing.

           “Uncuff him.” A man’s voice Synric didn’t recognize said.

           “You tried the other day, give the kid a break. He hasn’t even been alert for thirty minutes.” Jacorek voice. He recognized that deep, low tone.

           The cold, clammily feeling under his cheek and hands urged him upwards; he felt weak doing so. His arms shook, once toned and larger, looked scrawny like those arrows he had been crafting.

           “That wasn’t our deal,” said a woman, she sounded annoyed, irritated, like a mother on a verge of screaming at her children. “Why must I have to remind you every day?”

           A man’s head swiveled in the darkness; he was sitting in a chair next to the bars he was laying by. “Why must I remind you of our deal?” Jacorek retorted. “He’s under my care, you only get to do your test until I’m done with him. Then we can decide on a deal if you can have him. Now,” his voice boomed on that word. “I refuse. Leave the kid alone for today, and for shits and giggles, tomorrow. Come back after that.” His hand waved to the darkness.

           Synric swayed on his hands, not having the energy to get himself all the way to a sitting position, and collapsed; the stone floor met him like an old friend, caressing him with cold fingers.

           “I’ve already drawn—” the voices began to fade as another deeper darkness consumed him.

           The forest was now bright and sunny, and Synric found himself staring at large gap between the trees; his half finished arrow shafts were in his quiver, now needing to find some type of bird or owl to pluck feathers from. His search along the forest floor seemed to give him no help, so a nest would be helpful, or a bird itself. He had found some stones that he collected in case he ran into an unwary bird.

           But the birds were now far from his mind. In that open space before him stood a large black stag, with white antlers, and green eyes; he had seen Synric well before he had seen it. The creatures’ nostrils flared; his attention locked.

           He was awed struck even if he wanted to move. He had never seen a black stag before. He had heard in stories of the ones in Ashenvale, but didn’t they have different colored eyes? And its antlers where stark white.

           The stag snorted, a quiver of body movement, and it leapt away.

Mentions: @synric-silversong​ @divergent-lines​          

 Outside the window of the small room, the sunlight had taken on a deep yellowish tone in the sky. A beautiful sunset was on its way. Like every day. Westfall had the most beauty of all the places he had seen during this time of day; the view brought memories of smiles and laughs and a time where Jacorek was much younger, carefree, and a future ahead of him.

When that part of his life diverted from such a beautiful place, he had a hard time telling. There were many points. And some points were even before he had his meet his wife.

Sometimes he hated that he had not listen to James in that time.

Now, years had gone by and here he was again watching the sunset through a window. Alone. Well not entirely. Synric was there with him. Weeks had passed, and still Synric’s condition hadn’t change, but in all sense, he wasn’t alone in the room. The young man’s breathing came steady in the silence.

He was still alive, just not awake.

The druid-witch had continued her treatment of his physically body, but his mind? She couldn’t do anything about it. She was now certain of it. Synric was refusing to acknowledge her existence, and of course, Jacorek’s existence.

           “He needs someone to come back too. A family member. A love one maybe? He’s old enough isn’t he to have a kid?” she had tried hopefully, not knowing the truth of the situation. That Jacorek was, in fact, his grandfather.

           He knew that Synric was his grandson from the beginning, yet, a part of him simply refused to believe it, like how Synric refused to acknowledge their existence. Spending weeks in the druid’s room, coming and going when the blades demanded it, the memories had all come back like sharp daggers into his heart.

           They weren’t his memories. They were the Jacorek that had lived here. But weren’t they technically the same? And wasn’t Madivh his kid, not the second Jacorek. The second Jacorek kid had died. So, despite that they weren’t his memories, Synric was in fact his grandson because Madivh was his kid. So, didn’t those memories also belong to him because of that fact as well?

           Hadn’t…

           ”… I’ll keep him alive, but he’s practically just a corpse now. How long are you wanting to pay for that?” The witches’ words of a few days ago had been the last piece to throw all those others thoughts together.

           He hadn’t cried in so long, and yet, that day he had found his wife grave in Westfall and felt the emotion bubble and despite the swords desire to wipe him free from emotion his anger had stopped them; he wanted to feel, he wanted to cry, to feel the guilt of what he had done.

           Days had passed after that and the memory still stung, the blades stole that feeling quickly.

Back in the room with Synric, Jacorek found himself staring out towards the deep red hue of the sunset. As he watched the colors play in the sky, he couldn’t help but admit that his plan had veered too far from its path. Using Mey was a failed plan. Getting her back, was a desire only out of rage and perhaps the blades desire. Logically, Madivh would only be furious when he returned and she was still in his possession.

           You win. He thought. I’ll give him back to you, and you can stay free.

           Slowly, his finger relaxed on the blankets. His lichfire eyes flickered to the prone, skeleton form of Synric behind him.

           Leave, the whisper said softly, reassuringly. Its time to move on.

           Jacorek bit his lip. Slowly, he rose to his feet, gave one last look out to the drifting waves along the coast, and then made his way to the door.

           As his hand wrapped around the knob, he looked back. Synric continued to lay motionless on the bed, chest rising and falling, hands shackled. Perhaps you can bring him back.

He turned and shut the door behind.

           The druidess looked up; her wrinkle features giving him a faint smile. “When will you come back?”

           Jacorek untied a bag of coin from his side and set it down in front of the woman. She gave the satchel a wide eye stare before slowly looking back up. “An elf will be coming for him soon. Eventually.” He gave half a smile. “Until then, this should be good for payment.”

           The old druid gave a half snort. “Very well, not a lot of description to go off of,” she said taking the satchel of coins and slipping it into a basket by her desk.

mentions: @divergent-lines​ @thefracturedmosaic​

Synric rolled his head around, chasing away the sunlight that irritated him. The light followed. He gave a loud sigh as he came to the realization there was no point in fighting it. Synric pried open his eyes, and he was a bit befuddled by what he saw. Sunlight bathed everything in the room. Sunlight that came in from the single glass window that sat surrounded by wooden walls. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling. Small wooden tables, bookcases with filled books, and a dresser were lined with papers, small nick-nacks, bowls, and more books. 

Odd. 

Synric pushed away covers and made his way to the window. Outside, the soft yellow sand met the wide blue ocean. 

Smiling, he spun around and raced out the door, into a typical living room, and straight out the front door. The wind greeted him with its salty scent. The roar of the waves stretching out on the sands welcomed his ears.

He smiled, laughed, and felt tears run down his cheeks. 

When did I get home? He thought as he made his way towards the water. How long had it been since he saw the ocean and could actually swim in it? 

“Synric,” a gentle voice called out that froze him in spot; the roar of the waves beckoned, but the voice was all too familiar, all too heartbreaking. 

He turned slowly around, “Min’da,” came the immediate word, all other words forgotten as he took in the elf by the door. A soft smile, silver eyes, and long black hair. 

She went to speak, but he was already two steps and a hug, eyes tearing once again as he held her. 

“I’m so sorry,” He said, his voice breaking. “I should have just listened.” 

Jacorek took a deep breath. The sunlight filled room was an oddity, and it bothered him only because if it bothered him after only being in that dark, damp cave for two weeks watching the kid, then it surely must aggravate Synric. Even though he still hasn’t woken up. His thoughts turned him away from the sunlight, the wooden frames, the clutter room, and to the sleeping form of the half-elf in the bed. 

In the sunlight, it was even harder to look at the kid. 

The elvish heritage already gave him a slender look, but since the kid hadn’t managed to eat or drink on his own, his facial features were skeletal to look at. The covers looked like they laid on a bag of sticks. 

Jacorek faltered at the sight, taking in his plump hands and fingers, feeling the sword at his hip coaxing his emotions away. 

He couldn’t fight the swords anymore, yet, a part of him wouldn’t let him forget these feelings, those memories. 

Jacorek squeezed his eyes tight, looking back at the prone form of Synric. The kid was crying now. Little tears finding there way through. 

Jacorek rose from his seat and wiped away the tears before he moved around the bed and out the door. 

“Your medicine isn’t working,” his voice matched the edge of frustration he was holding on to. 

A middle-aged woman looked up from her placement of medicine herbs, spices, and several different containers. 

“Then, you may have to do what I said.”

Jacorek lips touched into a snarl. “Its not possible.”

“Then the man will stay in his coma.”

Jacorek took only four long steps before he struck the countertop of the witch-woman’s table. She froze in her movement, slowly putting down the string of plants she had been messing with as he said, “I’m paying you to heal him. There must be another way.”

The woman looked sharply at him. “His mind and body are separated, holding onto each other because the body has yet to fail, or a part of his mind doesn’t wish to die. Either way, he’s two steps into death door. His body is fine.” She added calmly. “Normally a family member or a love one would draw them back.” 

Jacorek felt his fingers wrap around the table’s edge, and he imagined the quick twitch of his biceps flipping that very table. He also imagined the witch-woman refusing to take care of the boy anymore, and as he wasn’t able to eat or drink on his own, drudic magic was the best alternative. 

He let the table go only by that will and thought alone. 

“I’ll be stepping out.” He said between tight teeth. Jacorek slammed the door behind, a hint of his anger that wanted to pour out. Mey’s the only one. His thoughts said, taking in the sand beneath his boots, hearing the ocean waves ahead of him. If I give him up…

He is useless to you now. Mey is never going to help you. 

The other company needs him. He retorted that thought quickly. The other line of thought seemed to dim away, knowing full well there was no arguing with that sense.

But…

Mentions: @divergent-lines​ @kaelenar​ @synric-silversong​

The house felt empty. Jacorek’s fingers were steepled and resting against his chin, as he leaned forward in his chair. He was still. Still as a statue could be. His thoughts were a different matter entirely.

           He could not let go of her voice calling his name.

It had been weeks since he learned of Meyorin betrayal, and those following weeks began his setup to get her back. But she wasn’t biting, and he was beginning to wonder if she really didn’t care for the boy at all. An additional week after that thought and he ran into her at the caves, with a man who had rudely interrupted him when he was trying to speak. Jacorek was thankful that he had decided to just settle at the waterfall for a time and just take in everything as it was; too live in the moment, too think of what he should do if Meyorin never actually came for the boy.

“Jacorek!” Her shout of anger stilled him, latching onto some sort of emotion; that emotion pained his heart. Why? He was beginning to think it had something to do with those dreams he was having. Such distant dreams that triggered no such memories in him, but carried heavy emotions of love, excitement, and hope. Of a baby and his mother.

Jacorek leaned back into his chair, hoping that such a movement would chase away the thoughts. His arm relaxed on the table as his fingers tapped the wood.

Those thoughts came back, and those dreams. Dreams of a baby. Dreams of Meyorin as she once was with silver eyes, deeper purple skin, less burns and scars. There conversations in the dream had been a mix of emotions, but they always fell back to the baby that he held; the baby with green eyes and white puffs of hair.

Synric.

His teeth clenched at the emotion boiling upwards, whispering too him. “Silence!” He screamed, fist crashing on the table. They are her memories. Not mine. That never happened.

The house grew still, slowly, reflecting the tension in his body, and once he sighed and leaned back against the chair again, did the house feel empty once more.

This house was a part of his memories, wasn’t it? The one that had lived here before he had died. Someone important to him. He eyed the table were his hands uncurled and saw the crack that had formed from his earlier temper.

If she only had done what I asked. He thought tiredly, looking towards the door. The boy wouldn’t be with them right now. His heart tightened at the thought. A part of him whispered he had made a mistake; he should go rescue the boy. But now, he recognized those whispers for the same ones that made his heart fill with emotion; they were the other’s memories, the other’s wants. Whispering too him of what he had. Teasing him. Taunting him.

He wasn’t yours. Jacorek snarled too himself looking towards the stairwell. For a long minute he took in the wooden boards, the darkness leading upwards to the filtering sunlight higher up. The way the shadows shifted with the trees blowing by the windows.

Then he looked away, and closed his eyes. All he could see was Synric’s frighten green eyes staring up at him.

mentions: @divergent-lines @kaelenar

The sun rays were bright and full of warmth as they stretched out from the window to the small eating table where Jacorek sat. Dressed in a typically white linen shirt, dark pants, and padded boots, he had forgone his armor and felt light and weightless; to which that did not help him overcome the feeling of his anger.

It was a cold anger. An anger that had him fixated upon the far walls where the stairwell led upwards for the last several long hours.

He had been toiling over the last conversation he had with Meyorin. She had seemed frustrated, angry, but hopeless, a sense of having no choice. I don’t know how long time passes there, I may not be back before the next check in, she had said.

He had agreed.

The first week he had been infiltrated, days after their conversation. The rogue that had broken in, his goal was unclear. Jacorek’s first instinct was, of course, that Mey had sent him. She wasn’t so foolish, so brash, to send a rescue without at least her presence being there. So he went with the second option too, in which the rogue was some sort of troublemaker and wanted to see what kind of treasure a death knight might have stored in the mountains.

Except the man broke Synric out, tried to take him to the point of threatening the boy if he didn’t cooperate.

Jacorek's first instincts had whispered to him again, but he was certain that Mey wouldn’t be so foolish. She was smarter. She would have known.

The second week was a blur of routine. The boy had gotten some weight on him since then, and he looked decent enough now that the bruises were beginning to fade. Mey never reported in, and Jacorek spent an extra few days in the city. No one had seen her. Not at the portal room. Not at the bars. Not even at the places she had a habit to visit beforehand.

At least that was until the end of the second week when a man he had purposely paid to keep an eye out for brought in that he had seen an elf matching his description around old town. She had a dragon around her shoulders. Golden Scales.

Then three days later into the third week he had gotten two more reports from different sources, one from the bartender, one from another hired source.

Now, Jacorek was sitting at the table, staring at the wooden walls and stairwell. She had betrayed him. Found friends of some sort, or was looking for them. Had she found Madivh though? Had she decided to risk the boy’s life over one that was already dead and could be brought back to life? Why was this so difficult? All she had to do was retrieve him, then, everything would go back to normal. She could be free. They all could be.

His anger sparked again.

Mentions: @divergent-lines​ @kaelenar​

Jacorek checked the house over. The windows were sealed, the doors locked, and there were no cracks or holes in the walls. He gave a single nod as he stepped out of the door, paused before fulling departing, and looked over his shoulder. A small smile couldn’t be kept from his lips. Synric was glaring at him from the table, hands still bound by the cuffs, but at least he looked somewhat normal now with a new white linen shirt and blue pants, and he was all washed up giving way to the clear lingering purple bruises.

Jacorek couldn’t help but remember their conversation when they first arrived at this house. It was located away from other people; a farm abandoned due to the orc invaders.

“This? You really think…” Synric had stopped, probably realizing that his chances of escape had gone up incredibly in his favor and didn’t want to ruin such a chance. 

“Here’s how it's going to go in the minds of our enemies.” Jacorek began as he shoved Synric in. The young man gave a huff as he stumbled forward.  “They failed to get you out. So they are expecting two things from me. One, I’m going to move from the hideout and go somewhere deeper and harder to find. Maybe with friends, maybe somewhere else entirely using magic and such to cover my tracks; either way its going to be difficult to find you. Or two, I’m going to reinforce the caves so that it's all but impossible to navigate without having a mind too where all the traps are, and even then you may not be in there! But man won’t it be a risk worth taking if you were and they cleared each trap?” He mused as he sat down his bag on the table, looking at the dirty and disheveled skinny young half elf. Synric was wearing a hood of course accompanied by a long jacket so it made him appear to be more a druid or possibly a tall monk. 

Jacorek had heard what had happened from Synric. How this odd man came in, blew up the runes by being ultimately foolish, and had practically knocked himself out. Synric had tried saving the man, but the man had turned violent on him and threatened to harm him. Too which, Synric said he couldn’t remember what he had done or said afterwards at least until Jacorek had shown up. 

The description of the man matched a familiar one he had seen with Mey, but if that was true, Mey was definitely playing a dangerous game, which also had him thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was going to betray him in the end.

He had a lot to think of and was finally excited to dump the boy here in this house.

“If it was me,” Synric began referring to his line of what his enemies would do.

Jacorek hushed him with a single wave of his fingers. “My offer still stands boy. Once Mey has brought me what I want, you’re free to leave.” He digged through his bag taking out portions of food and small canisters of water. 

Synric was silent. He always was for a few minutes whenever Mey’s name was mentioned. Then Synric shifted, eyes darting around the home. “So we are becoming roommates then?” He began slowly. 

Jacorek shook his head. “You will be living here. My base of operation will still be in that cave.” He hummed for a moment. “And don’t think you won’t be unguarded.” He said again drawing a chair and sitting in it, both feet came up on the table.

Syrnic eyes drew to his feet and the young man frowned. “How so?” 

“How so?” Jacorek mulled on the word. “Same way you were guarded beforehand.”

“Runes?” Synric quirked a sharp smile. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd if anyone shows up?”

The walk had done Synric good. At first he seemed nervous, uncertain, shying away from noises and such. Something that always occurred to captives stuck in a dark basement for a few months. But eventually he had returned to normal and the desire to escape had overcome him again. Jacorek had stopped him only once, beat him to the point that he was bruised and hurting enough that the next day’s walk was slower and had a lot more breaks.

Synric hadn’t tried to escape again.

And the people they did manage to pass by, Synric’s voice was silenced by the bounty of the half elf named Ronan, description and all.

Jacorek had assumed his enemies would hear those rumors, so several times he would misdirect these people and say he was traveling to Stormwind to turn in the bounty, going to Ironforge because it was close, or turning him into the nearest guard station until further notice.

He didn’t figure it was fool proof, so he had taken a deserted road through the canyons and horde territories and hadn’t reappeared on anyone's radar for days until he showed up alone in Stormwind.

Jacorek shrugged and rose to his feet. “I’d be surprised if someone did,” he said softly, “After all there are several orc camps nearby and most people ignore this route due to ambushes.”

There was a brief silence. “And what if they decide to meddle with your runes?”

Jacorek quirked an eyebrow. “Hopefully for you, they don’t, otherwise better pray I’m nearby.” He grinned madly before laughing. 

That had been the end of the conversation followed by a quick show of the house too which came with a mattress, running water, and stocks of food. The clothing and other essentials came later the next day.

A week had passed since then, and the routine had become ingrained. Jacorek checked his runes, Synric watched with a glare, and then he would leave. He would return to the caverns, warm the fire while walking along a different route in the caverns leaving breadcrumbs here and there for anyone deciding to show up again. Then he returned to Stormwind, as he always did even before he moved Synric, to view bounties and hear any callings for a mercenary looking for blood. Two or three days later, Jacorek returned to  find that the young man was still alive, sane, and surprisingly well cleaned. One time, he had actually walked in and he could hear the boy singing in the upper rooms where the sunlight was heaviest. His voice was soft, smooth, and elegant. A voice that would catch ears in a tavern and silent voices.

Mentions: @divergent-lines @savianblackwood @faelynnmistwhisper

Synric heard the door slam and his immediate pulling of wooden boards ceased. His bright green eyes flickered to the stairwell. Frozen, like a deer catching the scent of some feral prey. The sound of footsteps echoed, followed by something heavy clattering to the ground, then, a low groan of wood.

He’s too early. I have at least another day before he comes back. Synric looked to his makeshift hole in the wall. The wooden boards were too far gone now that he couldn’t just put them back together. The bookshelf he had hid the hole last time was obviously pushed far from its original location. He would notice.

Wouldn’t he?

Synric cursed his luck in more than one way. If there is a goddess, If this is some kind of punishment, I wish you could tell me what it is I did wrong! He scooted out from behind the bookcase, looked it over closely, before staring at the stairwell. The door would swing open further down giving him enough warning.

The minutes passed, drawing into longer minutes. No sound came.

Jacorek should have had enough time to come up those steps by now. For a moment, Synric wondered if the man had left, and he just hadn’t heard. At that very thought, a sharp crack echoed from below, the sound of wood groaning, followed by a shout of rage and frustration.

Synric paled, looking to the bookcase and then back to the stairwell. Something had happened.

Mom. It wasn’t the first time he had thought of her. Now that weeks had passed by, the image of the elf claiming to be his mother, his only hope of escape, he couldn’t help but think of her. Her and his father. But they're dead and no one is going to save you. And if Talren was coming he’d be here already, and Faellyn…

He turned to the bookcase, he had to risk it.

There came the sound of things banging down below, and Synric rushed to slide the bookcase back into place. Once, such a thing would have been smooth and easy. Now, the bookcase felt like it weighed like heavy metal.

The sound below stopped. He stopped. The bookcase was almost in alignment.

He didn’t wait long for the next outburst, which paled Synric more so. Whatever happened, he thought as he shoved the bookcase into place, it wasn’t going to be good for him.

Synric stepped lightly over to the window. He had memorized which floor boards squeaked, and so he avoided them diligently. No reason to bring the wrath of the man from below upstairs. Synric sat down, opened one of the books he had been passing the time with, and tried to look as normal as possible.

Jacorek never came though, which was another oddity, and eventually, the sounds from below had gone silent for well over several hours.

The sun had shifted in the sky to touch the edges of the red cliffs, and the cool shadows were beginning to steal the last remaining warmth he would get for the day.

Synric had drifted, staring out to the scattered treelines and bushes. Rabbits had passed by, deer too, and nothing else. This place was deserted. He wished he knew where the town was, if it was beyond the hills that he couldn’t see over, or in the direction he couldn’t see. His thoughts eventually jumped about what to do if the hole in the wall would trigger the runes when he heard the door swing open.

Synric jumped, despite having expected it for some time. His eyes were set to the open space where the stairwell lay hidden from sight, step after groaning step, the black hair of the man bobbed into view before the rest of him.

And he did not look like his normal self. Gone was the armor, leaving only the sword at his hip. And from the side, he looked an awful lot like Savian to such a point that a small part of his brain leapt at the possibility.

But Jacorek’s blue eyes flickered to him and then he stood, quiet, silent, and most importantly filled with tension. Synric shrunk just a little bit. The weight of his cuffs became another reminder of how hopeless his situation would be if the man decided to take his anger out on him.

Synric slowly shifted his body towards Jacorek, keeping his head low, his body motions slow. Jacorek’s eyes narrowed, and his hands fell from his chest and down to his side. His stride was one with purpose and rage, and Syrnic was upon his feet, shirt being pulled towards the death knight.

“Seems your mother decided that you aren’t worth the time,” Jacorek said. The words registered just as fast as the sharp blast of pain that struck Synric in the gut and he spat as his body wished to curl into a body instinctually, and it did. He fell to the floor in a clump and for a moment was grateful to feel the cool wood. But his mind was twisting, she abandoned me?

Jacorek footfalls rounded around him. “What am I going to do then?” He said, making one round and stopping. Synric refused to look up, and for a moment, he wished dearly for his parents, Talren, Faellyn... She had promised, he had heard the voice’s whisper. Synric bit down on his lip, cutting the tears short.

Jacorek seemed to have other plans though. A sharp weight fell on Synric’s leg, and he gasped as the pressure registered closer to his knee. Please. Synric whispered in his mind, but knew nothing would come from it. Knew that the men would only find pleasure in his whimpering and begging if he spoke.

“She broke her deal.” He said his voice deep and rumbling. Then he felt the pressure sharpening, his knee protesting. Panic filled him.

“Then I can do it for you,” He said, his voice unable to hide that fear. “I can do it for you. I swear.”

Jacorek paused, his eyes flickering to sudden intrigue. The pressure lifted from Synric’s knee. Jacorek began laughing, a soft, easy laugh that he had heard one too many times. This laugh was not a good one.

Synric scrambled to get his legs back underneath him, to get all body parts closer. He remembered his shoulder, it still hurt.

Then Jacorek was kneeling before him, his smile wide. “You’d run away.”

“No.” Synric said despite the little voice that said, yes of course.

“You would,” the man said, his voice losing all warmth, and Synric was hoisted back up to his feet.

“I wouldn’t! I swear. You could accompany me, I won’t make a scene. I swear.”

Jacorek hardly seemed amused now. “Tell me boy, do you really want to help?”

“Yes.” Synric voice was filled with desperation as his mind flashed to the elf that claimed to be his mother. She lied. The voices whispered.

Jacorek lips twisted in a grand smile. “She will come for you. She thinks she has the upper hand. Somehow, some way. But she’s forgotten you know.” He said touching Synric on the cheek with a knuckle. “But you haven’t, have you?”

Synric shook his head.

“Good.” The pull from Synric’s shirt relaxed and he was standing by himself. Jacorek stepped away, and began to walk around him.

He wants to beat me, take his rage out. Synric closed his eyes, waiting for that first sharp jab.

Jacorek scoffed, and the sound of his footfalls began to recede. “I’ll be back.” He said his voice filled with indifference. “And you will fulfil your promise you just swore,” he finished with a hiss.