InsaneJournal

The steady, warm thrum of Orgrimmar was soothing as Hresden perched on top of a wooden pole near the base of the flight tower, his boots resting on the part of it carved with words in Orcish.  Smiling, he tilted his head back and just listened to the city moving around him, finding it a far better focus than anything he could think of whilst meditating in silence as his old teachers had told him.

Quel'thalas had been home but even it had seemed stuffy and he'd found himself more at home in the wilds his sister explored.  Even if his gifts did lie more in the arcane arts.

Theramore was more like Orgrimmar than Quel'thalas was but...the humans there had never truly taken much of a liking to the High Elf refugee's in their town.  Which was why he'd spent most of his time in the tower with the other mage's, studying his craft.  He'd been happy to be rid of that place, even if it meant switching his allegiances.  Not that it mattered to him as his sister was his allegiance.

Orgimmar...he didn't quite know what is was about the city that he liked.  Silvermoon was far too peaceful for his liking, as was Thunder Bluff.  And the Undercity...there was something sinister going on in that city, he could feel it in his bones.  Perhaps it was the homey hustle and bustle that he liked about Orgrimmar, beings of every race dashing here and there every moment of the day, all going about their own business.

Strange to think a High Elf raised in the pleasantness of Quel'thelas would find himself more in love with the simple but sturdy nature of the Orcish home city than his birthplace.

Hresden chuckled at his own thoughts and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, watching the movements around the always busy auction house.  One passing Blood Elf gave him a strange look and he just smiled at her, to which she turned her nose up and continued on, her robes swishing in the dusty streets.  He sighed after her and shook his head, recognizing her as a fellow practicer of the arcane arts.  Most of them couldn't quite understand his abhorrence of wearing robes, far preferring a tunic of some kind along with practical pants and boots.

He'd found it really laughable when one had told him that robes showed others that they were practitioners of the arts.  Actually...he seemed to recall laughing in her face.  Robes showing they were practitioners of the arts!  HA!  He could show someone that easily by conjuring a ball of fire.

Sighing, he cupped his chin in his hands and sat, his green eyes flicking across the crowd below him.  As such...he caught sight of something small flashing as it fell from a passing female Blood Elf's pouch.

Jumping down, he rushed over to snatch it up before it was trampled and rose again to get her attention.  But she was lost behind the bulk of several passing Tauren and he frowned, looking down at the object in his palm.  He brushed dust from it and turned it over, discovering it to be an old, Elven-made ring of some elegance.

With shock, he recognized the symbol carved into the rings surface and realized that he had seen this very ring before.

His sister carried one small keepsake she had managed to save during the destruction of Quel'thalas - a small portrait of their parents, their father standing regally behind their mother, her stomach slightly swollen.  And on the hand that laid possessively on their mother's shoulder had been this ring; a ring engraved ever carefully with the symbol of the Sylindaal family that they had earned in years past.

Shocked, he stood in the middle of the street, hand clenched around the ring.  If...if someone had this ring, that meant...someone knew where his father had disappeared to just after his birth.  Perhaps...perhaps even the one that had dropped it was...

His heart skipped a beat at the thought of having a younger sibling.  That was the only logical reasoning he could think of for someone to have his father's ring - all the others ended in murder and the ring being stolen, and he liked none of them.  But  why hadn't they sought out him or Lymalis?  Surely...surely if they had a sibling, they would have been told of them.  Or had their father been ashamed of his previous children?

Shaking his head, Hresden sighed and moved out of the middle of the street, still scanning the crowd for the female Blood Elf.  Failing at finding her again, he tucked the ring into one of the pouches on his belt and began the walk towards the flight tower, pulling a few coins for the flight master out.  Last he'd heard, his sister was somewhere in Mulgore looking for a bit of peace and quiet after her latest attack and near draining of a young druid.  He needed to go tell her about this.

They had a sibling.

And the Sylindaal's did not abandon family on any account.