#tyverus shadowstar

It will pass.

He had to tell himself this several times in the course of the day. To keep himself going. To keep balanced, moving forward. To keep Astrias from  worrying more than she did. 

To keep himself from falling apart.

Every day was becoming a struggle. To present the face of who he was, who he was known as. Who he was expected to be. Who he needed to be. 

It will pass

But he was tired. So tired. The days were a struggle, the nights were unbearable. He was becoming afraid to even close his eyes for a few moments. He spent most of the late hours staring at the ceiling, and if he did doze he would force himself awake again. Before he slept to deeply. Before the orcs appeared.

He knew she was aware, she hadn't said anything since the first night it happened. But he was not foolish enough to believe Astrais didn't know he had barely been sleeping. He saw it her face every day, but she didn't prod to deeply about it yet.

She would. Sooner or later concern would win out and she would begin to ask, to try and learn what was haunting him. but how he could explain it? Would she think him insane? 

It will pass.

It had to. Because sooner or later one or the either would win out. Either exhaustion would overcome him, or the nightmares would. Either way he dead. Every time he closed his eyes they were waiting, with their whips, and nooses. And they would kill him.

The throbbing of his left hand was getting worse. When the adrenaline of his anger had faded, the pain of the bones broken from when he punched the wall on his way out of the Hospital took over. He had found a small enough piece of wood in the forest  around the house to make a splint, using a torn up old tunic for bandages. A bottle of wine had helped dull the pin. At least the pain in his hand. the pain he felt inside was ten times worse.

How could Astrias, how DARE Astrias accuse him of deceiving her. He knew the news of his  time as prisoner in Draenor would shock her, would cause her stress and fear. He appreciated her giving him a few days to re adjust to being home, to find a way to explain the scars. But he never expected her to lash out him.  Especially when Elenaris had mislead her during a meeting.

His anger flared again. He'd deal with Lady Eventide later, first he needed to figure out what to do now. Ever since he returned Astrias had been distant, cold. He himself was feeling out o sorts. His temper seemed to go off at anything. He hadn't been back in the city a week and he had almost gotten into two fights. Every time his temper flared he didn't see who he was speaking with.

He saw orcs. Leering, laughing, enjoying every moment of his suffering. He was back in that cage, beaten and bloody. And the one person he needed above all else to be there was acting like a complete stranger. Like he was a complete stranger.

Tyverus ground his teeth partly in frustration, partly from the pain in his hand. He knew where to go to get the hand fixed. the rest was not so easy.

" You're fine." he muttered to himslef. "You'll get through this, Astrias will get through this. Things will go back to normal."

She looks as stunning as ever. A vision of perfection he had thought he would never see again. Ever since he had been rescued by Elenaris and her men he had dreamed of this moment. coming home, and holding his wife again. 

But dreams and reality rarely met. His reception was distant, cold. Almost like he was some stranger, not her husband. Not the father of their son. The ice in her words, the reluctant way she received him. it hurt.

Hurt. 

Never would he have thought he would feel that coming from her. Not from Astrias. But could he blame her? He hadn't desired to go off to the war, but when when called he left. Left her to juggle a home, the pending arrival of their son, the stress of worry for him. and when no word reached her, the fear on top of all of it. 

Yes her reception of him had hurt. But his absence had hurt her more. It would take time for them to find their harmony together again. But the ranger was confident they would. they had come too far together to break now. It would take time, and he would give that time. He was done with war.

Or so he thought. As she went off find her rest, he left the Hospital to come face to face with a ghost from his past. A benevolent force that he owed all he was to. The man who raised him up, and helped make him the man he was.

Lord Velin Thalryn

The talk he had with hi one time master was veiled and guarded as they always had been. Velin had never been one to come out and say directly what was on his mind, unless it was of great importance.

The ranger, had posed the question to him. One only another father who had marched off to war, leaving a family behind could answer. Velin's response, instead of the usual cryptic riddles, had been straight forward and honest. and it was piece to the puzzle that occupied Ty's mind for weeks, that made so many things click into place. 

But as he took his leave of his lord, something Velin had said nagged at his mind. something ominous.

It was all a haze. The far away sound of horns blowing, steel clashing, the screams of the dying and of terror. The feeling of being moved. It was all fogged with pain and a desire to feel no more. The sounds of battle replaced with chanting and praying. The feeling of potions and soups  being forced down his throat.  A familiar face floating on the edges of consciousness. The feeling of his hand held by another.

The haze slowly broke, and the first thing that occurred to him was the warmth. No biting cold, no fevered sweats. Just a comfortable sense of warmth. His eyes cracked open slowly. They focused on a the small fire burning in the brazier. He shifted slightly under the warm blankets. Slowly he sat up taking in the surroundings of the shelter. It looked orcish in design almost. Through a small opening in the ceiling to let the smoke out he could see the night sky faintly lightening in the pre dawn moments.

The ranger's eyes fell upon a water jug on a small table. He rose, drawing the blanket around him like a cloak. A wave of dizziness hit him, he sat back down on the bed, forcing his eyes shut. After a few moments it passed. He opened his eyes, and taking a steadying breath rose again. He walked shakily to the table, his balance off center.

Reaching the table he clutched the edge a another dizzy spell hit him. He hunched over, feeling the new scars pulling tight across his back. Many scars. The horrors came back to him. He grit his teeth reliving each agonizing moment. A small growl escaped him. He fought the memories down, grabbing the water jug and drinking greedily. Ignoring some that dribbled down his chin, he drained the jug. 

A weariness settled back over him. Even this small amount of activity drained him, as he stumbled back to the bed. Wrapping the blanket around him, letting the warmth of the fire evelope him. He lived,he may be weak now. But he would be strong again. But what mattered was he lived. 

Kinsman,

I must confess your lack of contact has been, disturbing. You were given specific instructions regarding the Traitor's son and yet we have heard nothing.

The Elder is concerned, which in turn make me concerned. And so I have new instructions for you. I and my entourage will be arriving in the city within the week, you are to procure proper lodgings for us.  It is clear we must take a more direct hand in things. Keep close to your own quarters as we will be calling upon you directly.

I should remind you that all commands are from the voice of the Elder himself. Failure is no longer optional.

Glory to The Elder, Glory To The Shadowstar.

 ((final part of a collab with sairynia))

The days and nights had begun to blur for the shieldmaiden. The orcs left them alone for the most part, though they had begun to torment her in other ways now. Each day, they would drag the body of a prisoner they’d killed in various manner and dump the carcass in front of her cage. Each one cut like a knife leaving a deep and jagged wound upon her spirit. She would remember their faces and use those faces, those spirits to fuel her fires when the day came that she was free and could make these orcs suffer the wrath of a woman scorned.  

Today had been no different, the corpse of a blood elf woman already having been dumped before her cage, those sightless eyes seeming to stare at Sairynia. She couldn’t help but stare back, lost in her darker thoughts until the ragged coughing fit of her neighbor drew her attention. The man was half dead and didn’t seem to want to live anymore. She could barely see the top of his russet maned head as he lay beneath the filthy wolf pelt.

  Frowning, she scooted back with a grimace and leaned back against the bars of her cage,” Hey, we haven’t talked in a while, Tyverus. You up for keeping me company?”

  No response.

  “Come on man, don’t you know it is rude to ignore a lady?”

  Still no response.

  “Tell me about Astrias?”

  Nothing.  

  Sighing she hung her head pondering the idea of praying, but to what? The elves didn’t believe in the divine, only the light of the sun. That gaze lingered briefly thinking he may have already expired but those dark thoughts lessened at the sight of the pelt rising with his labored breaths. Just live, Tyverus. Just live. Her brows furrowed tightly as she glanced at the corpse once again, those glazed eyes now looking as if they were pleading with her not to let the man die as all the others had.

  She felt helpless to stop it.

  Slumping back against the cage with a heavy sigh, she called out,” Well, since you’re not talking, I guess I’ll carry the conversation for us both. You want to hear a story, Ty? I have plenty of them,” she paused hoping for a reply, anything really that told her he was listening. Upon getting none she smacked her lips and began the tale,” Of course you do. Once not so long ago, I ran across this pirate in Booty bay….”

  Ty shivered, the cold biting into him. He heard the woman talking, sounding far away despite being mere feet from him. He didn’t even have the energy to look up to her. Another fit of coughing hit him, shaking his now frail body. He was dying, and thought made him angry.

He knew coming to this war was a mistake, he knew it the moment he he got the conscription notice. He knew  it the day he rode away from his home. Now he wasted away in this cage, never to see Astrias again.

  Never to hold his son.

  Another coughing attack exploded in him. After it passed he gasped for breath, and sharp pain lancing through his chest. his eyes drooped shut.

The world had gotten smaller. He could see it, right in front of him. Ever since the ambush in the valley. Ever since what had become the first of many beatings. The world, despite a vast openness around him, had shrank.

Not enough room to stand, Not enough room to stretch out. A huddled ball. sitting, waiting for the next round of clubs and fists. A tattered dirty pelt, his only shield from Frostfire's arctic winds.  They had stripped him of his weapon, his armor, and most of his clothing. If the abuse didn't kill him, the cold would. And if the cold failed then he would waste away from the lack of food or water. One tiny portion of a watery gruel, that half the time he wretched back up was all he could expect.

Hours had become days, and days became weeks. With each sunset, he was thankful he had survived another day. With each sunrise, he could almost pray for death. He tried to keep faith, tried to salvage hope. But it got harder and harder. 

Why was he here? What purpose did they have keeping him and other few who survived the ambush alive for? They didn't speak to him or the other captives. Not even during the beatings and whippings. 

The thought of them made the wounds across his own back ache. they hadn't been tended and he could feel them turning sour with infection. Another way to die in this thrice damned place.

They were halfway across the valley when the ambush hit. Orcs, camouflaged with the pelts of the white wolves native to the region sprung up from the snow drifts Ty had an uneasy feeling about.  One raised a war horn to his lip and blew a long note. More orcs appeared on their worgs on the crest of the opposite hill, swarming down onto the small scouting party.

Swearing, Ty began sending arrow after arrow into the enemy, knowing they were severely outnumbered. He saw his companions trying to form some kind of defensive ring, but the numbers of the orcs disrupted any coordination. He heard Silas screaming out commands, disjointed and terrified commands.

An orc rode up to him, swinging an axe at him, too close to fire an aroow, Ty swiftly ducked the blow and jabbed the enemy in the gut with his bow. The orc swung a reverse stroke, luckily hitting Ty with the flat of the blade. but it was hard enough to send him spilling off of shango's back to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he plucked another arrow from his quiver and shot the orc's worg in the eye. 

The beast reared in agony, tossing it's rider to the ground. Shango was upon the orc in an instant tearing out his throat with his fangs. More enemies swarmed in, Ty dropped his bow snatching his sword and dagger from their sheathes. He battled defensively, against two orcs, backpedaling the entire time.

" Tyverus! Down!" a bellowing cry sounded behind him. Ty dropped to one knee, as a large hammer whistled in an arc above his head. Redhorn's weapon smashed into the orcs sending them both flying in broken heaps.

"Thanks!" Ty called, standing back to back with the tauren. They battled fiercely against the odds, felling what enemies that came against them. But the numbers only seemed to grow.

Ty heard Redhorn give a grunt of pain, and stumble back against him. Ty was forced to move to avoid the tauren from falling on him. He glanced back to see him on his back, a sword sticking out of his gut.

" No.." the ranger growled, strtaddling his friend, to try and keep the enemy from doing worse to him. " BEEZY!!!" he yelled for the shaman, as he knocked mor blades aside, constanlty turning to keep from being struck from behind.

This went on for several long moments, several small wounds being accumulated, then slowly the orcs pulled back very slightly. Ty stood over Redhorn, panting  in exhaustion. He looked around. 

Redhorn was dead, his wound bleeding out. He saw several of thew other forced to their knees, Beezy among them. Disarmed and bound. One rather vicious looking orc strode up, a spear in his hand. Topping the weapon was Silas' head.

"Surrender!" the orc growled at him. Ty looked around again, everyone was down in some form or fashion. there was even no sign of Shango. He looked back at the orc, seeing the promise of a very painful death if he did not comply. With a curse he flung down his weapons.