Falvior and Lissar Kill Some Time

"It was an accident," Lissar said, shrugging.

Her companion looked at her skeptically. "You were raised into undeath, by Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, accidentally?"

"Sure. I mean, no one’s perfect." Lissar took a bite out of a shiny red apple and chewed meditatively, enjoying the flavor. Falvinor looked like he wanted to comment but didn’t have the energy. As if reading his mind, she spit the bite out over the side of the ship, then smiled and winked: silly death knight, food is for the living.

"She wanted my mother," she went on, sobering a little. "My mother was a respected ranger, you know. She’d served with Lad—Syl--, um … her." Lissar stumbled over what to call Sylvanas Windrunner, who she had quite a few pleasant, if not outright happy memories, of. She’d also jumped the shark so hard that she ended up in the Maelstrom, so there was that.

She took another bite and continued: "Anyway, my mother never came home from the war. At all." A polite euphemism for I’m pretty sure she was either turned into a mindless zombie or she got eaten for Falvinor’s benefit. He had issues with undeath.

"So the family plot stood empty, until I had the bad luck to die from … " she paused dramatically, narrowing her eyes to gauge his interest. Unable to tell, she went on: "… a summer cold!"

"Seriously?"

"No, I drowned in a lake. I’m not a very good swimmer." Fal looked skeptical. He often looked skeptical, but most people either looked skeptical or downright befuddled in dealings with Lissar, who was both an atypical dark ranger in skill set and personality. Still, they had travelled enough together that he’d seen her swim. Lissar nodded encouragingly then shook her head. And nodded once more. Grinning, she went on before how she died could ever be truly ascertained.

"I share my name with my mother. When the Banshee Queen went to the crypt, she found the correct name and thinking my corpse was my mother’s, she raised me instead!" Lissar laughed, because she frankly found the story quite funny. She couldn’t share it with most people, because outside of Forsaken, most people found it horrifying rather than humorous. Lissar suspected that Falvinor actually fell into the latter camp, but she had spent a lot of time trying to help Fal come to terms with his own undeath. She hoped that he would both appreciate the story for its absurdity and also be pleased that they were close enough friends to share such personal stories.

Falvinor was uncomfortable. But that was nothing new. He was often uncomfortable these days. Had been for quite some time. Uncomfortable with himself and his current lot in li…. Undeath, he quickly corrected in his head. You are undead. Not alive. You were once alive, not anymore. But his current discomfort was more than just the existential crisis he had been living with… er, experiencing… for some time now.

The truth of the matter was that the ship he was currently occupying was providing its own gauntlet of discomfort. The weather had not been pleasant of late, as if the heavens were externalizing Falvinor’s mental state – currently a mixture of drizzle, wind that seemed a bit out of proportion to everything else, and gray skies as far as the eye could see. Fal was no expert on weather patterns and their effect on bodies of water, but the seas were choppy. Which meant the ship’s passage had been a bit rocky. One small blessing was that his internal systems no longer worked like they used to – there was no nausea to speak of – but it all still made him uncomfortable.

The wood decking he was currently sitting on had also not been the best seating choice. But it is where he had found Lissar after rising for the day, in the midst of attempting to eat an apple. (Falvinor shuddered inwardly at the thought of how that fruit would feel going into his current system). While his prior social life had been quite demanding at times, occasionally to the point of annoyance for his husband, Saryss (gods he missed him), since being raised from the dead Fal’s options for intelligent and interesting social partners had been limited. Either he was surrounded by drooling morons (sometimes quite literally) or anyone who may have been interested in chatting with him when he had been truly alive now saw him as an abomination to be feared.

So it had been a pleasant surprise to meet Lissar. She was so full of life, so to speak, for someone who could no longer claim that state. They had been traveling together for a while now, and he could tell their interactions were having a positive effect on his outlook. He felt a little less like an abomination, that undeath may be a bit more tolerable. Not ideal, but he was no longer feeling the need to throw himself into the nearest inferno, volcano, or whatever imminent danger may actually allow him to truly die – for good. She’d even helped him find the sunglasses that now perched so naturally on his nose, lending the world an even darker tint but hiding his eerie, glowing blue eyes.

He paused in his introspection to listen as Lissar told her tale, weaving in a bit of humor that was not entirely lost on Fal, even if he did not entirely relate with Lissar’s bewilderingly relaxed views on being raised from death. He may not understand her, but he did want to support her, so he forced a chuckle as Lissar completed her tale.

"Well, that must have been quite the surprise when good ol’ Syl figured out she made that mistake! How did she take it?" He knew that calling her Syl might be perceived as a bit of an insult but he was not the strongest supporter of the Banshee Queen. Or any of the Horde leaders, really. Thankfully, Lissar knew that.

He turned his icy eyes on her, listening intently, and putting his focus on the continuation of the tale rather than his discomfort. Lissar was quite good at distracting him.

Lissar grinned, displaying the tiniest of fangs. She had no problem being herself, although she understood Fal’s reticence is displaying his eyes and therefore, his state, openly. Lissar had been a dark ranger, and that had imbued her with confidence to not be afraid of others’ hatreds. If someone refused to speak with her, she would find someone else to speak with. If someone ignored her, she would ignore them, too. If someone spit on her, she would sic Kim upon them and the squirrel would rain down hellfire and walnuts on the transgressors.

"Oh, goodness," she laughed at the memory. "All she said was ‘what?’ But, you know, she is hardly one for manic outbursts. That’s about as good as it gets. She handed me over to Andiel for training and promptly forgot I existed. I could have defected to her face and she probably wouldn’t have noticed."

Lissar had cheerfully followed Sylvanas Windrunner in the beginning, because she had hero-worshipped her as a child and she was deeply happy to not be dead. She made light of it, but she had died completely unexpectedly, barely a week before her first natality as a full adult. She had not been ready to go.

It had been disappointing, really, to watch her hero completely unravel. She had been at the mak’gora between Sylvanas and Saurfang and it had been … bad. She had remained with the Horde and considered herself Forsaken after that, as much as a high elf, dark ranger or a blood elf.

She shrugged to herself and tossed the half-eaten apple over the side of the ship. The bad weather didn’t bother her; the rain felt good and she, unlike Fal, had claimed a box to lounge on. She didn’t even have her hood up. She had learned to like gloomy, over-cast days. While she could walk underneath the sun, she was no longer a child of its rays. She liked the grey days, but of course, she liked the dark nights best of all.

"Oh." Fal said, inwardly disappointed there wasn’t more to the story. Usually, Lissar’s tales were lengthier. He often wondered how much embellishment went into her tales – but his "lived" experience with her had informed him that there was likely more truth to her tales than fiction. In this case, there just wasn’t more to be told. He tried not to let the emotion show on his face. "Well, I suppose it is not many who have been able to accidentally pull one over on the Banshee Queen." He chuckled, a brief smile crossing his usually dour countenance. "And perhaps you were more notable to her than you think." Given Lissar’s personality, he could see this statement being true, even if she was not privy to such information.

Lissar snorted, almost laughing, at Falvinor’s new name for the Banshee Queen. She liked the cavalier moniker for her. She had so many mixed emotions about the woman, after all, and she always fought her negative feelings with humor. She gave a few thoughts to whether or not Old Syl found her notable, and finally shrugged, having no real answer. She had travelled a long way from the kind, but slightly self-important "work friend" that her mother had introduced her as. Lissar didn’t really know what to make of it, since people in her philosophy didn’t commit atrocities "for the evils," but they usually had some sort of reasoning behind it.



But when Sylvanas had burnt down Teldrassil, apparently out of spite, Lissar had been horrified. Unable to figure out how to extricate herself on her own, she had been deeply relieved when most of the Dark Rangers had revolted after the mok’gora. She’d have been happier if they’d done it before, but she could hardly throw stones when she’d been unwilling to do so first.



Not one to dwell on dark thoughts, she shook herself a little, and smiled at Fal. "So, Fal, yet another mysterious continent appearing out of seemingly nowhere! The Dragon Isles!" She spread her hands wide, inviting him to be shocked and awed. She had never been to Pandaria, but she felt that the excuse of "oh, well, mist," seemed a tad ridiculous. Of course, "oh, well, dragons" wasn’t much better.

Or, apparently, any less true.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, caught up in her excitement, his voice a boisterous baritone. "That seems to happen a troubling amount. You’d think we would have a better grasp on our geography by now and not go misplacing entire continents." He chuckled, the sound coming out a bit strangled and awkward. It had been far too long since his voice had erupted with laughter, he’d almost forgotten how. "But I guess the dragons had their reasons…. Regardless, I am looking forward to seeing this new land. Creating new memories." He looked over at his companion, eyes serious behind the dark glasses. "About time I started ‘living’ again, eh?"

He spared a moment’s thought to his husband – out there, somewhere – wondering if he, too, would soon by setting his sights on this strange place. Sometimes he longed to find Saryss; other times he hoped his former partner would never find out about his current state. Better Saryss thought him dead and gone, better to let him continue with the memories he had of their time together while Falvinor was alive. He certainly felt like a shadow of his former self. Lissar was helping, but… he was a far cry from the jovial individual he once had been. But if he knew Saryss was nearby – could he really keep that distance?

Realizing he had distracted himself from the conversation, he focused again on Lissar. "What are you hoping to experience there once this forsaken vessel arrives?"

"Hmm," Lissar said out loud, tapping her chin with her finger. She hadn’t traveled much as a child or a teenager, since both her parents had been very busy and very important. She had gone to the lake in the summer, but before Old Syl had raised her, she’d never been further south than Tranquillien. After that, she’d travelled mostly for war, and well, the only time tourism came into play was when you were deciding if bombing a famous statute would hurt the other side’s morale. Decidedly not fun. She wouldn’t say so to Fal, who needed something more uplifting.

Not food, either, since she didn’t really eat. She was starting to run out to time, trying to think of something fun and buoyant and mostly true.

As her "hmm" turned into "ummm," she threw up her hands and burst out: "I heard there were frogs the size of dragons there!" Then grimaced a bit, because she didn’t actually like frogs. Lissar did have a bit of a "friend of all living things" vibe, despite being darkfallen. Her pleasant demeanor and natural exuberance seemed to attract children and animals. She did however, have a little girl’s fear of creepy crawlies and slimy things like snakes and frogs.

Falvinor raised an eyebrow at Lissar’s outburst. "Well, that will be a… unique… thing to see," he said quietly. In his past life, he had been quite the nature buff but, aside from the squirrels that constantly tormented him, nature seemed not to want much to do with him anymore. He had seen many fantastical beasts in his time, but frogs the size of dragons were definitely something he had yet to check off his list. "So long as we keep our distance," he added wryly. "I am sure something of that size might mistake us for food." The grimace she’d made had not gone unnoticed and Fal could not help giving her a little bit of a hard time. After all, that was one of the primary tenets of friendship, right?

He glanced down at his hands, then straightened up, putting on an air of seriousness, "I expect we might taste terrible, though. So, they will likely spit us out after the first taste." He followed up this statement with exaggerated wink to let her know he meant this as a jest.