Serazyth Umbrilen

An Illusion (Short Intro Blurb)

Even though he had spent a substantial amount of time exiled from his home city before the fall of the Grand Magistrix, Serazyth could always recall the shouts from the market, the polite conversation in passing and calming music at the plethora of parties those involved in upper society attended. Noise had never been uncommon but the cacophony of sound outside Suramar was something he still could not entirely adjust to. It was a jarring system shock walking the streets of the bright Sin’dorei streets or, even deeper into the unknown, standing in a bustling tavern in Tol Barad.

It felt so peculiar therefore, only a few days later, to be arranging the remodeling of a house within the confines of the port town to settle into. It seemed as good a place as any, however, and the fact that it was a neutral ground appealed to him. He had no allegiance to uphold aside from the tentative strings his race had agreed to and with the regrettable decision his ‘leaders’ had made on his behalf, there was truly no desire to somehow be an ambassador of his kind. Or even interact with them, truth be told. No, this was far more enticing. Being on the outskirts of an ambiguous little haven had its charm and use. The reparations he had received were chump change compared to what his family had left in vault, which he’d not been able to fully retrieve (yet), but it was enough to afford this refurbishing.

***

    Slender fingers turned up the wick on the lantern, illuminating the sparsely filled living room with amber light. It was past the moon’s zenith and, while he wasn’t opposed to the dimness of night, his work begged for the bolder beam. As he carried it carefully up the stairs, he caught a glimpse of himself in the large body mirror and it gave him pause. It wasn’t often he actually looked at his own visage and it seized him like seeing a phantom. The flame cast shadows across his face, exaggerating the crags of straight scar lines that adorned his gaunt cheeks. Eyes that usually looked wary and worn were momentarily owled, captured by the form that was so far removed from what he remembered from decades ago. He had accumulated a fair bit of weight back, not from consuming the hailed fruit of the Arcan’dor, but from finally being able to produce crystals and ingest the favored Arcwine of his (fallen) city once again. He had not cared as much about “curing” himself, not after all the time he had spent doing...a vast variety of things in order to maintain his sanity. Nightfallen. The name had always made him laugh, though the implications were dire. No, for now, that held far less importance than getting back to work. He took a deep breath, allowed himself a huff and moved on into the room he had designated strictly for alchemy and industry. There was a lot to assemble, even more still to purchase. He sat at the table he had placed in a corner and began to sort through beakers and vials, granting himself the mental space to reflect on those he had seen at the tavern and around town. The first to approach him outright had been a blood elf woman who worked there, polite and high-spirited. There was a magical tinge about her, though he hadn’t been able to place it. Their encounter had been painfully (and awkwardly) brief. He puffed air from his nose, reminding himself that many of his encounters had been that way since branching out. Still, she had held his attention. It was something. One of the owners, Lars, he had at least had more than a passing conversation with. His lips slid up a little at the thought of their short discussion, prompting him to return to the task at hand, mindless as it was. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by languishing. He had much to do before the rising of the sun.