Tears of the Moon

This story is an updated revision of one of my earlier stories, Warlock of Felwood http://games.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600080571 so there'll be similarities if you've read the previous one.


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CRASH! A heavy mailed gauntlet smashed through the feeble wooden door, a deafening burst of shards and splinters, “I TOLD you, girl,” The gauntleted hand poked through the new hole, its cold metal scales emblazoned with a sun insignia, belonged to a harsh male voice, obviously sneering. “Shattered Sun’s the new boss ‘round here,” His hand fumbled for the door knob on the other side, before a mighty kick brought the door crashing open. “and if yer gonna resist, we’re gonna think you’s got somethin’ to hide…”

“What right do you think you have to come burs—“
The sound of a mailed fist impacting with soft flesh was sickening to hear; the only thing worse was the inglorious thud of a body crumpling into a heap on the wooden floor.
“Right of Sergeant Firestar, that’s who, bitch.”
The sound of Firestar hacking up saliva in his mouth before spitting on the abused woman filled the deadened silence in the small, sparse apartment.

Tears ran down Sylphiel’s cheek profusely, her slender ear pressed up against the inside of the small trunk heard everything. Syphiel covered her mouth with her hand, concentrating on not letting loose a muffled sob for her dear friend. From inside the cramped little trunk, she could hear the sergeant whip around, addressing his subordinates.
“Alright boys, y’all know the drill. Grab the good shit we can sell, especially any magical r-r-rea… reajinks, or wadever. They sell’s extra good nowadays.” His tone dropped to a lower, malevolent whisper, the sheer evilness sent shivers down Sylphiel’s spine.
“And if any’s of you finds that prissy Sunstridah whore…” A fateful pause. Was he winking? She shuddered. “…I get first dibs.”

Sounds of treasure-hungry soldiers rummaging through the tiny single-room apartment filled the air; papers and books being wildly strewn about, furniture being upturned and hacked apart in merciless search of a coin. Splintered debris crashed against that hollow little green trunk in the corner, containing the most valuable treasure of all.

Sylphiel’s heart raced as if it were trying to escape her chest cavity, each piece of debris landing on the trunk’s lid reverberated in her ears, each bounce was like an executioner’s axe. Except her fate would be worse than dying. Much, much worse. Suddenly, she fumbled inside the pitch dark trunk, her delicate position kneeling length-wise thrown off-balance by a jerk. Her breath stopped, her emerald eyes widening beyond any measure. Someone was tugging on the trunk.

“Sarge!!” Another male voice cried out, mere inches of thin material separated her from certain doom. “I can’t get this one opened!”
Firestar’s reply resounded from across the other side of the room… his voice had a quality of such cruelty, such resounding harshness.
“Put your back into it, idiot!”
Sylphiel could hear the sound of his plated boots striding across the floor, each footstep audible against the creak of each wooden plank on the ground, crushing scattered trash and debris in his wake. This was the end…

Thud!
Firestar’s mailed fist slammed against the trunk like a sledgehammer, the shockwaves vibrating through Sylphiel, through her terrified heart like electricity. Her breath was caught in her throat, her eyes wide with sheer horror. “This is the end…”

“DAMNIT!” Firestar’s voice reeked of pain and frustration, clutching his injured hand. “Not gonna open, huh?” A newfound anger shone through. “We’ll see about that you DAMN CHEST!” A flurry of vicious hammering strikes reverberated through the dinky green trunk, each one louder and more violent than the last. Sylphiel, stuffed and cramped inside the tiny container, her vision denied, instead relying only on her sharpened sense of sound, winced with each crashing blow, the violent, screeching sound of metal shattering against metal, expecting each strike to be the one to seal her fate.

“DAMNIT!!!!” Firestar viciously kicked the side, his steel-toed boot leaving a dent in the trunk, a dent mere inches from crushing Sylphiel’s head. In the split second the container’s walls malformed into the form of a toe to reach out for her terrified eyes, Sylphiel fainted, slipping into darkness…

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Sylphiel opened her eyes again, the pointed outline of the caved-in trunk greeting her senses. It was still pitch dark inside, she had no idea how much time had elapsed while she was unconscious. These things… they never happened before. It was never like this in the palace. Sylphiel’s body was drenched in a sticky, humid sweat, so uncomfortable, so claustrophobic inside the dark, damp coffin… how she longed for luxurious palatial bath… Writhing around helplessly inside, the trapped moisture ever-pervasive on her sweat-slickened skin and matted in her blonde hair, she was at her mental and physical breaking point. “It’s so hot and miserable…” she quietly sobbed to herself, her warm tears collecting in a pool. She had to get out, no matter what.

Tightening her small, delicate hands into fists, she banged against the side repeatedly. “Sylara… Sylara!! Can you hear me?!?” She choked out in between muffled sobs. “Please, open!! Please!” It was so dark, and lonely and miserable…

As if it were an answer to her prayers, the latch clicked open, the utter darkness she had endured for so long flooded with soft, pale moonlight. She looked up onto Sylara’s marred and bloodied face, her long slender Sin’dorei ears drooped in sadness.
“S-S-Sylara… what did those brutes do to you…” Sylphiel accepted Sylara’s hand, climbing awkwardly out of the trunk and spilling onto the disheveled floor.
“Sylara… I’m so sorry… you should have never done this for me…” Sylphiel took her battered face in her gentle hands, inspecting the destruction the savages inflicted on her servant girl. An enormous black bruise covered Sylara’s right eye, marring the natural beauty and femininity inherent to all Sin’dorei women. Cuts and gashes ran down her cheek, remnants from the splinters she had collapsed upon. The vivid life inside her once-jovial and cheery best friend and servant was gone, replaced with… emptiness. Her simple palace maid dress was torn and tattered, the spark of life in her eyes extinguished. It was too much.

Sylphiel embraced Sylara tight as bountiful tears streamed down her cheeks, crying for the sheer cruelty of what had occurred to Sylara… the destruction of her home, the demolishing of her livelihood, and the scarring of her body… all to protect her.
“Sylara… I’m so sorry… I never wanted any of this to happen to you…”
She was shocked to feel herself pushed away, the cold, empty green eyes peering back into her were lifeless.
“Mistress, listen. I… endured… to protect you. Now isn’t the time for this, you are still in grave danger.” Her eyes looked as if they saw straight through her. “I’ve called for Astelan to come. To protect you.”
Sylphiel’s eyes looked to the demolished doorway, to see the tall, black haired blood elf leaning casually against the ruined entrance. Clad in his standard Blood Knight regalia, emblazoned with his station of “Adept.

“You need to go. Before they return. Please.”

Clasping her friend tightly, the inundation of tears rolled down each other’s backs, before Sylphiel stood to leave. The ever-stoic Blood Knight handed her a fuzzy brown hooded cloak. Commoner’s wear. Wordlessly, she donned the garment, while Astelan tied the rope into thick knots around Sylphiel’s slender wrists. Disguising her royal features beneath the itchy brown cloak, they would appear to be just another pair of Blood Knight and errant prisoner.

As Syphiel wordlessly trailed behind the proud Blood Knight, the sole two people out on the desolate streets, she surveyed the carnage all around her. Countless homes had been smashed and looted, peering through the window, she could see families huddled together in a blanket, gathered around a single candlelight, their frightened eyes following her as she passed by. Work of the Shattered Sun Offensive. Prince Kael’thas had betrayed his people only days earlier, whisking away the precious Naaru, and sentencing his innocent descendents, House Sunstrider, to death. Going from beloved princess of Silvermoon to despised effigy in a mere hours had been quite traumatizing for Sylphiel. She was abruptly torn from leisurely basking in her garden to being stuffed and locked in her maid’s trunk. Thank the few loyal subjects she still had, her maid Sylara and her royal bodyguard, Astelan.

As they trailed through the wreckage and debris of the looted homes, Sylphiel was glad her ever-vigilent Astelan crooked his neck left and right, scanning for danger. There was some quality in the air, a feeling of imminent danger. It could have been the burning wreckage strewn across the cobblestoned streets, or the vulgar graffiti praising the Shattered Sun and condemning House Sunstrider, but there was some dark, sinking feeling in her stomach…

“Stop right there. Blood Knight.” Sylphiel recognized the voice. It was so bitter… it was Firestar’s. Her heart began to beat faster as she recalled her imprisonment inside the cramped container, listening to him strike poor Sylara into the ground…
Footsteps sounded from behind them, as two Shattered Sun members slinked out of the alleyway, cutting off any route of escape. They were all male blood elves, hooligans and brigands, their new-found power was granted solely through the accursed Shattered Sun tabard. Curse the edicts of the damned Naaru sitting comfy in Shattrath, pronouncing mandates from continents and worlds away!
“Watcha got there, Knight?” Firestar and his cronies approached closer, ever so slowly. “Don’t you know about the curfew?” His tone was menacing, even threatening. “You must be up to no good…”

“Listen closely, Scoundrel.” Astelan’s voice rang out clear in the pale night sky, carried far like an imperial pronouncement upon the chilled air. “Know that I am an ordained member of the Blood Knights. My duty is to the Sin’dorei people, and my business in this city is of no concern of yours. Step aside.” Astelan unhanded Sylphiel’s rope, his hand slowly gravitating beneath his blood-red cloak and towards his blood-tempered ranseur.

Even beneath the shroud of night, the quivering rage exploding onto Firestar’s face was visible. “You insolent little whelp! You spoil our fun when we were ransacking that elf girl’s house, and now you think you can just waltz through our territory, huh?? Well now you’re gunna DIE!”

As Firestar drew his short blade and charged with a bloody scream, his cronies unsheathed their weapons and ran towards the Knight. With a quick movement, he thrust Sylphiel’s cloaked frame to the ground. “Hide!” She scampered on her knees to the sidewalk, as far away from the fighting as possible, her frenzied eyes desperate to stay alive at any cost as she huddled on the street corner.

The Shattered Sun combatants slowly encircled Astelan, the three of them waiting for an exposed opening as the Knight whirled his deadly blood-red polearm high in the air. Astelan scanned his enemies with eagle-like intensity, examining them closely; the angry one seemed headstrong and was only used to outmuscling his opponents. In his peripheral vision, he could see another Blood Elf, dressed in tatters except for his Shattered Sun tabard. A common thief, no doubt, with little more than a knife he’d try to stick into his back. No doubt the third one behind him was but a petty criminal as well. Very well, the headstrong leader would charge first, and his subordinates would follow.

Astelan turned to his side, lunging forward on one leg, bringing the ranseur’s edged tip crashing down with fierce intensity down upon the brigand on the side. Astelan’s ranseur would have shattered his skull in twain, but the years of quick reflexes allowed the rogue to sidestep the fatal strike just in time. His life flashed before his eyes as he could feel the whipping wind of the polearm slashing mere inches from his face, his eyes and body petrified. As expected, the apparent opening sent Firestar rushing forward with his sword high in the air, eager to quickly slaughter the Blood Knight.

Astelan quickly withdrew his ranseur embedded in the cobblestone like a farmer would pull back a hoe, deftly raising the steel shaft above his head, catching the brunt of the sweeping sword strike in between the cold steel. Parrying the powerful slash imbalanced the brutish Firestar, and a quick sweep from Astelan’s foot sent the warrior crashing to the ground. As expected, the thief behind Astelan had waited until Firestar had charged before moving in. Astelan whipped his hips around, a single hand on the ranseur, spinning the deadly steel in a semicircle like a fan blade. The sharpened edge caught the unprepared rogue in his stomach, slicing through the Shatterd Sun tabard, and hacking into his soft flesh. His blood-curdling death scream echoed through the night, just one more haunting memory for terrified Sylphiel and any other innocents in the vicinity. Unhooking the edged weapon buried in his opponent’s entrails, Astelan steadied his weapon against the two assailants in front of him now.

Firestar had recovered to his feet now, his eyes bulging at the sight of his skewered crony. He grabbed the other thief, still petrified from his brush with death, and threateningly placed his blade across the youth’s throat.
“You’re the protector of your people, huh??” Firestar backed away slowly, his sword at throat point. “It’d be terrible if you were guilty for getting this kid killed.” His voice cracked with fear. It was one thing to bully the defenseless, it was another to engage a trained Blood Knight in battle. “He’s just misguided, you know? Fell in with the wrong crowd, thought he could bully some people and grab some goodies, you know kids…” He quickened his pace now, getting ready to all-out sprint. “It’d be a terrible injustice if you got an innocent kiddo like this killed…”

Astelan strode forward, ranseur in hand, the bloodied entrails still hanging onto the weapon’s serrated edge. It was frightening the intensity of which he took each step, his flowing blood-red cape fluttered in the night air as he walked with single-minded purpose. Raising the polearm as if he were to harpoon a whale, he used his bodyweight to drive the ranseur through the human shield and pierce into Firestar’s heart. Withdrawing the blood-red weapon, he shook the shocked youth off the point, casually tossing aside his jaw-agape body, trembling from the aftershocks of being impaled. With another sweep, he pushed the weapon through Firestar’s chest, striking a mortal blow to the wicked Sergeant.

“Mercy is for the weak.” Astelan said with a sneer, staring into the bulging Sergeant’s dying eyes. “Justice has come for you, Sergeant Firestar, and it has found you wanting.”
Astelan twisted the ranseur, and the Sergeant’s death cry spilled into the night like his crimson blood…

The rest of the journey through the streets was a haze. Sylphiel could only remember the bloodied bodies littering the street, their blood pooled on the cobblestones, their dying screams haunting her… Was this really the kind and gentle Astelan she had known in the palace? He had always seemed like an older brother to her, his strong arm keeping her out of trouble and out of reach of the commoner masses who adored her. True, he was a bodyguard to keep her safe… but did keeping her safe mean people had to die?

Time had no meaning as they meandered through countless streets and alleyways. Sylphiel could only focus on the rustling cape in front of her, robotically following the rope tying her hands while her mind was tormented with what she had seen and been through. It was with great relief when she finally heard the words from Astelan’s mouth. “We’ll rest here tonight.” They withdrew into a small enclosure in an alleyway. Perhaps it was unsafe to camp in the middle of a wartorn neighborhood, but in Astelan’s presence, Sylphiel did not even think of it. Not in her Protector’s presence. He untied her aching hands, and she cast off the itchy woolen cloak to the ground, freeing her cascading blonde locks and dainty facial features to the night. Sylphiel curled around the Blood Knight’s lap like a kitten, wrapping her arms around his neck like a giant teddy bear, before exhaustion brought her into the world of nightmares.