Of Power and Mercy

((This is about my rogue, Tylirel. It was one of those weird things where the story just burst in my brain and had to come out NOW.))

The Conjury was a large circular room with several worktables set up near the middle. On each of the tables, alchemy equipment hissed and bubbled as the two forsaken apothecaries looked over their work with care. They muttered in gutterspeak to each other, the two hunched and cowled forms cutting sinister silhouettes in the torch-lit room.

On two opposite ends of the Conjury, armored guards stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the five cages that were sitting near the worktables. Within each cage a rather pathetic looking Sin'dorei prisoner sat, or in some cases slumped, on the stone floor. Their clothing was made of fine materials, but tattered and worn as if they had been roughly handled. Two of them wept openly as they watched the apothecaries at work, the rest sitting in sullen silence, awaiting what was to come.

An older Sin'dorei walked through one of the two entry doors, a smile on his face as he looked over the caged prisoners and the bubbling alchemy equipment. His red magister's robes swirled around him as he came to a stop near one of the tables, studying the experiment there with a practiced eye. One of the apothecaries nodded at him and he smiled, pausing to speak in unfamiliar orcish.

"Are your elixirs prepared then?" he looked back to the vicious liquids bubbling before him as he spoke.

"As you requested Magister Summersky, the elixirs are prepared," one of the apothecaries responded. "The strain of plague we've selected will be virtually undetectable, and should result in massive fatalities once the infected victims interact with others."

The Magister grinned viciously as he took in the news, "And the potions to dull their wits and force their compliance with our plans?"

The other apothecary laughed and held up a vial of hissing liquid. "Easily done."

Magister Summersky nodded and looked at the prisoners in their cages. Each was a servant of House Dayfire, taken by his agents while performing tasks in the city within the last day. Each would be infected, and sent back to Dayfire Spire to poison the rest of Biara Dayfire's people, killing hundreds of them and weakening her hold on her powerbase. She had insulted him for the last time, and now House Dayfire's guards and servants would perish in huge numbers to satisfy his honor.

It was as he turned around to give further instructions to the apothecaries that the attack began. It went almost unnoticed at first as a guard by the door was soundly struck in the back of the head with a weighted sap. He stumbled into the doorframe, stars in his vision as the second guard near him gurgled, his throat neatly slashed open and his lifeblood spilling to the floor.

In a second, a slender Sin'dorei female had appeared between them, her form fitting black leather armor making her blend with the shadows of the doorway. The guard that had been struck in the head was executed with a neat stab through the base of his ribs and into his heart, and he slumped to the floor silently.

Magister Summersky blinked in shock as the guards at the far doorway raced into the room, weapons drawn from sheaths in an instant. Time seemed to speed up as the battle began.

********************

The first guards meant nothing to her. They had been a free kill, a mere obstacle to overcome on her way here. It was the now alerted enemies in the room that drew all of Tylirel's attention. Her eyes blazed as she studied the two approaching fighters. Both had longswords, their momentum propelling them across the conjury at high speed.

I was once a hand of Kael'thas, trained to slaughter any that defied the Prince. I am a weapon, an object of death to those who stand before me. I fear no blades.

The guards stumbled to a halt as Tylirel launched herself towards them, rolling to the side to confront one of the two directly. He swung at her and she leapt up into the air. For one stunned second the Sin'dorei believed that his foe had actually landed ON his extended blade before one of her finely crafted leather boots took him in the face and hurled him to the ground.

As she landed, Tylirel crouched low, letting the second guard's sword swing over her head, narrowly missing her blonde ponytail as she hurled herself back up. Her tiny body slammed into his and he gasped as he looked into her eyes, a foot of dagger punched deep into his ribcage. He saw nothing in her expression as she twisted the knife and ended his heartbeat.

The guard fell away and Tylirel crouched, slashing the fallen Sin'dorei's throat before moving towards the center of the room. Magister Summersky pointed at her, chanting as fire magic built in the air around him.

I was trained by Biara Dayfire to hunt her enemies. I am more of a spellbreaker than any guards that walk this city. Where I go, no magic will touch me.

She touched one of her bracers and it flared with power, the wards on it surrounding her and enveloping her in shadowy magic. A fireball arced from the Magister's hands and flew towards her, disappearing within the cold embrace of the dark power that she cloaked herself in. She ran across the room faster than he thought possible, pausing only to throw a tiny packet of eye-burning powder in his face. He screamed and clawed at his eyes, blinded as she shoved him against one of the tables. Behind him, the apothecaries reached down to their tables, picking up bottles of elixirs and hurling them at the quickly approaching foe.

I was a reaver, a corsair, and a slave. There is no poison that has not touched me. There is no potion that can take my life.

She dove under a table as the bottles passed harmlessly over her head, slashing the legs out from under one of the apothecaries and ending his shrill cries by running a blade across his throat. As she rose up on the other side, the second apothecary tossed a vile elixir at her. Tylirel whirled, bringing her cloak up and absorbing the concoction in its fabric. The garment hissed and began to dissolve, but the apothecary's grin ended as a tossed knife from her wrist sheath took him in the throat.

As the forsaken fell to the ground, Tylirel turned and casually walked over to Magister Summersky, kicking his legs out from under him and kneeling on his chest with one knee. She planted one of her daggers firmly against his throat as he blinked through his tearing eyes at her.

"W-what do you w-want?!" he practically mewled.

She stared at him for a moment, her expression giving away none of the thoughts behind her eyes. Finally she decided to speak to him before putting an end to him. "Nothing."

"I-I'm a powerful Magister! I can give you g-gold! Powerful magical items! A-anything you want!" he stammered.

Tylirel studied him for a moment more and spoke in a deadly quiet voice. "There is a lesson to be learned here. Wealth, magic, followers, all of these things are worn as the trappings of power, but that is not what they are. They are merely tools of the powerful. True power, the only power that actually matters, is the ability to take life or grant mercy. It is that power that you lost the minute you had your minions shield you from the need to make such decisions. It is that power which I now hold. It is a shame that so many learn this lesson only in the last minute of their lives I think."

His eyes widened. "M-mercy! Have mercy!"

For the first time, Tylirel smiled, the beautiful expression on her face never reaching her dead fel-green eyes. "What do I look like, a priest?" Her dagger plunged into his neck, severing the artery.

She carefully cleaned her weapons on his robes as the pool of blood around him widened. Stepping over it carefully, she made her way to the cages, unlocking them one by one and freeing the Sin'dorei within. One of the males paused to look at her, his expression awed.

"Why did you do it? Why save us if you have no mercy?"

She looked at him, her face neutral again. "Because scum like that think they can use our people like pawns. They trade them back and forth, taking lives without care for our numbers, without concern about the real foes outside our walls. I did it because it needed to be done, even if I'm the only one who sees that."

He nodded, not really understanding. "Aren't you Lady Dayfire's personal assassin? Did she send you here?"

Tylirel barked out a short laugh. "Lady Dayfire...no, I came of my own accord. I am no longer employed directly by her. You might even say she works for me, in a way."

The other prisoners gathered around, looking about anxiously as the assassin spoke. Tylirel smiled again for a brief moment before bringing a finger to her lips. "Enough talk. You will follow me out of the door at the count of exactly twenty five. Come any sooner than that, and you die. Any later, and I leave you."

With those last words, she darted through one of the doorways. The freed prisoners heard a brief clash of steel on steel followed by a gurgling cry, and then the hallway was deathly silent again. They looked at each other, counting silently down the seconds.

The prisoners eventually made it to the streets of Silvermoon, a trail of murdered guards leading the way. They never saw the blonde-haired Sin'dorei again.

The Sigil

The small fire crackled as Tylirel threw one last branch on it, letting it heat the dell in which she sheltered. She'd spent a few days in the forests of Eversong, simply thinking about the things she'd come to realize while watching the pirates fight. Memories drifted through her mind; her many kills, her adventures at sea and the years of deprivation she'd suffered as a slave. All of these things made up a little piece of her, a bit of a puzzle that was the soul of a Sin'dorei assassin.

As she settled down near the fire, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, huddling down. Assassin. Is that all that she was now? All that the future could possibly hold? After all of the lives she'd taken, did any of it mean anything anymore? The idea of a few days ago had been a startling revelation. To apply her skills to a different course, to take lives not for pay or the desires of some noble but for a just cause, was very appealing after the decades she'd spent serving the spoiled upper crust of Silvermoon.

Once upon a time she'd dreamed of a better future for her people. As she watched the fire crackle, her gaze roamed to an object that was placed in the very center of the small blaze. A metal chain, almost red now from the heat, ran from the object and lay across the ground near her feet. The object within the flames represented that dream, the dream that Kael'thas had given them all for a time. All she had to show for it now was her fel green eyes and the sigil-enscribed golden disc lying in the heart of the fire.

As Kael'thas had brought her dreams to life, he had also shattered them with his underlying betrayal. It had made Tylirel what she was today; a violent assassin fit only to take the lives of her foes. For the longest time, she could recall caring for nothing but the next assignment, obeying nothing but the commands of Biara Dayfire when HER dream had come to replace the one that Kael'thas had torn away with his treachery.

She would dream another's dream no more.

She carefully unfolded her arms, removing her leather bracers and placing them on the ground beside her. With a spare piece of leather that she used while cleaning her daggers, she yanked the chain that was connected to Kael'thas' sigil, and pulled the glowing golden disc from the flames. Her eyes took in the red-hot sun emblem that the disc contained on one side; the image rising above the flat of the disc. With the metal so hot, the sun looked as if it were real, the heat dancing across it's surface.

"Belore" she whispered, before quickly pressing her right arm down on the disc. The flesh of her wrist came into contact with the searing hot sigil, the magical artifact burning her with its heat.

The sun. The sacred and ancient symbol of her people. A symbol of hope and power. The perfect thing to describe the wild thoughts her heart had given her over the past few days. A new sun would dawn. She would see to it. A new purpose would be given to her lost people.

She lifted her arm up, the pain of the burn giving her a rush of excitement. Burned into her flesh of her wrist was a perfect emblem of a sun, the magic of the disc having turned the wound black. She felt elated at the sight.

The Sigil of the Dawning Sun had been born.

A Change of Heart

The sun was just rising in the distance, painting the small encampment along the shore with vibrant colors. The ocean beyond the beach was obscured by a fog bank that had rolled in over the night, and in the stillness and quiet peace of the morning one could almost believe that the world ended at the edge of those misty white clouds.

As with all things, the peace came to an end rather abruptly as a heavily armed warship sailed into view, seeming to materialize out of nothingness as the obscuring mists parted before it. The pirates in the camp began to shout as their sentries called out the alarm, but their efforts were of little use as the warship turned, presenting its broadside to the land-bound pirates. Cannons flared as screaming explosives were hurled from them, and soon the encampment was under full barrage from the ship. The pirates scrambled to man their own guns, but systematically they were destroyed, one after another. Within a few minutes, the pirates on land had little artillery with which to offer resistance, and landing boats began to dot the surface of the water, bobbing up and down as they approached the camp steadily. Above the ship, a large banner was raised, the symbol of House Dawnblade flapping in the morning breeze from the tallest mast of the Shattered Blade.

*************

A pair of Fel green eyes blinked in annoyance as their owner observed the fierce hand to hand combat break out in the pirate camp below. House Dawnblade's new captain, Celessarae Sunblade, had made a royal mess of things by assaulting the camp now. The information that the owner of the eyes needed would be lost, and her mission would be a failure.

Tylirel Sunstrike resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. Dressed in a form fitting mottled green and brown bodysuit, she lay entwined with a large branch high in the boughs of a tree overlooking the camp. She'd been there for hours, her mind studying the patrols set by the pirates and evaluating the best way to assault the camp herself. Her target, a magistrix of some power deep within the camp, was most likely embroiled in the conflict with House Dawnblade's warship. Tylirel doubted the Sin'dorei would survive, and even if she did she'd likely be hauled off along with the illicit weapon crates in the camp below. It would be a major victory for House Dawnblade, and the weapons confiscated would inflict harm on several other minor Houses that were making an effort to ally against some of the more powerful noble families.

Despite the fact that Tylirel's mission was obviously spoiled, she made no move to climb down from the tree or even to uncover her golden blond hair. Hidden in a deep green hooded cloak, with a green mask over her face, it would have been impossible for even the most careful of observer to see her there, and her magical charms kept the magistrix in the camp below from detecting her presence. There was little need to relocate, and she needed to think about what to do next. With her mission a failure, something in the back of her mind worried at her and it took several minutes of thought to realize what it was.

She was tired of this.

The thought was startling, considering her line of work. She looked at her arm, which lay across the branch in front of her, and at the dagger strapped to her wrist. How many lives had it taken? How many times had she stalked prey, just as she was doing now? How many of those lives were Sin'dorei? Did any of those efforts make a difference, as Lady Dayfire thought they would? Was the world a better place now?

No.

She looked back down to the encampment below, where House Dawnblade's forces were mopping up the rest of the pirates. The very soldiers on the ship were no better than those they had just defeated, and yet they were blessed with the charter of House Dawnblade, giving them the right to slaughter other Sin'dorei who 'crossed the line' as it were. Just as Lady Dayfire did. Just as Miss Chalce did, even if she wouldn't admit it to herself. It was time for things to change.

Tylirel's eyes widened as she realized what had been missing, the piece of the puzzle that was bothering her. The noble Houses didn't understand the needs of the Sin'dorei. They didn't see that their bickering and infighting was only serving to thin the already devastated population, and crush the remaining commoners beneath the weight of their constant warfare. Tylirel's own actions had aided this system for years now, decades even. And all the while, the Alliance could take advantage, could plunder the Sin'dorei lands unopposed as the divided Houses watched their backs against one another.

What if there is another way?

Another way indeed. A way to keep the Houses going down a path that would lead to peace. A way to keep them focused on goals that would truly help the Sin'dorei, rather than just their own treasuries. A way that Tylirel could teach them, given the right manipulation and pressure. As the idea blossomed in her mind, Tylirel's face took on a fierce grin beneath the mask. In all her many years, she had never worked for herself, had never attempted to bring her own dreams to life provided she was seeing action and getting paid well. Perhaps it was time to dream. Perhaps it was time to change the world.

With barely a whisper of sound, the deadly assassin slipped from the tree, her movement invisible to the camp below. A heartbeat later she was gone, no sign of her passing left to discover.