[Muse]

Tyrael found his way back into his home, many years ago when he was about 10 years old. He was tired, finally getting back inside the house after a long day of playing in the sand.

Tyrael smiled as he saw his older brother, Tayven, in the room. He ran forward in their small dwelling, mother and father looking over and smiling as they prepared dinner. Tyrael leaped up and wrapped his arms around Tayven, the taller, armor-clad man chuckling as hoisted Tyrael in the air and swung him around like a child.

Tyrael laughed, he couldn't be happier, seeing his older brother Tayven was a very rare opportunity. He was a lieutenant in the Thazalhar legion, and he was always away doing tasks for the legion.

"Big brother, when are you going to play swords with me?!" Tyrael looked up at his older brother, his eyes wide as he looked up to Tayven expecting an answer.

"I'm afraid not for a while, little brother. I'm only here for the night." He reached down, scruffing his armored hand on Tyrael's bald head.

Tyrael let out a sigh of sadness. He pouted a little bit as he watched Tayven turn around and head towards their parents, smiling and laughing as he talked with them. Tyrael just wasn't happy when Tayven wasn't here. He was his big brother, his idol, and he grew up admiring him.

The curtain door suddenly flew out with a unapparent breeze, a small whistling sound coming through as an arrow whistled through the air and landed in the center post of their underground home under the sands of Moszabbar.

Tyrael whipped around, confused, as did the other members of his family.

They began to move towards the door, his father and Tayven standing up as they left their food there.

His mother then ushered Tyrael down, pushing him down under the bed as Tyrael protested.

"What's going on, mama?!" He yelled out, his mother just shaking her head and shushing him.

"Whatever you do Tyrael, do not move from this spot, please." She had a gleam in her eyes. She was truly sad, and worried. Tyrael looked past his mother, to see Tayven and his father there at the doorway, weapons drawn as Tayven hoisted his shield up into his other arm. Tyrael finally complied, crawling down under the bed as he turned outwards so that he could see the feet of his family in the home.

There was a loud shout, and his mother ran to the back of the home to grab a dagger and run back. Tyrael began to whimper quietly in his spot, as he looked around and saw four more pairs of feet, armored feet clomp down onto the wood floor of the home.

Tyrael closed his eyes. The sounds of parrying, grunts, swordplay in the home made him close his eyes. He didn't want to look, he didn't want to see what was going on. He was sure his big brother would kill the big, bad men.

Tyrael only heard loud shouts, then he heard a body slump down on the floor, something rolling in his direction.

"Ravena!" Would be yelled out as a loud sound of pain erupted. It sounded like his father. Tyrael clenched his eyes shut, beginning to quietly sob in his spot under the bed. He stiffled through it, the loud sounds of swords clashing made Tyrael stiffle his cries. He then finally grew the courage to open his eyes.

He wished he never opened his eyes.

The severed head of his mother was there, staring him right in the face. He went wide eyes, in shock for a few moments as he stared at his mother. Her long black hair was still running down the back of her hair, and the blood and gore around where the cut was was running out onto the wood, her face was of pure shock and her jaw was dropped down low.

Tyrael began to sob again, quietly, looking past his mother's head to see his father there. He was on all fours, holding his neck. He was spewing blood out of his neck, trying to close it as there would be a sudden grunt as his father suddenly was laying on his stomach fully, and was quiet. Blood trickled and flowed out onto the wooden floor, and he looked up to see a spear embedded into the back of his father.

Grunts of pain were heard by Tyrael, sobbing quietly as he wished all of this would go away. That this was just a bad dream and that none of this was really real.

"Tayven Black. This is tha' target, right boys?!" A sny, nasaly voice would be heard yelling out as the men grunted in agreement, nodding with a small chuckle being heard.

"That broad cut me! That stupid bitch!" Was heard by a deeper, bass low voice.

"Perryn, take care of Gruin." The nasal voice said, a man clomping in front of the bed and over to a man who was on his knees, holding his side with blood coating his hand.

Tyrael gritted his teeth, raising his fist to slam it into the wood but halted himself, knowing that he would be found.

Tayven was on his knees, grunting. Tyrael looked up and saw Tayven there, looking up at a man that was holding him by the collar of his armor. He had blood all over his mouth, and a large cut along his forehead.

He then would hear a loud sigh, as there was the sound of a sword slipping through skin. He heard a gargling, and Tyrael clenched his eyes shut as he sobbed there under the bed. He was pouring tears down his cheeks, resisting the urge to sniffle and try to blow his nose. He heard a body slump over on the floor, and his worst nightmares were then met.

"Good work, boys." The nasal voice was heard again, an irritating, awful tone of voice being heard through the air. The men then began to loot through the shelves, stripping his family of their jewelry and belongings. Tyrael wanted to jump out and fight them, kill them and kill them all.

But he knew he couldn't..

He laid there, sobbing quietly as the men took what they needed and left, clomping up the stairs from the underground home.

And even after they left, Tyrael laid there for hours. Crying as his family was gone from him, now fallen by some assassins' play. He only hoped now that whatever god was out there, that they would help him, and bring his family back.

He stayed there, and hoped, until he couldn't hope anymore.

[Muse]

The next afternoon after the night of the slaughter of his family..

Tyrael was silent, but he couldn't help but grunt. The legionnaires stared at him as he spent hours, the majority of the remaining time of that horrific, tragic night to drag his parents and Tayven out a few hundred yards away from Moszabbar's western gate. He had bags under his eyes, straining his muscles to carry his heavy, full-plated brother.

He then fell down, staring forward as his parents bodies were a few hundred feet away at the spot he picked. He panted, curling his fingers into the hot, warm sand as the sun beated down on him.

The legionnaires of Thazalhar whispered and then eventually shouted as he grabbed his brother by the ankles and turned his back to his spot and began to drag him through the sand with all of his might.

"Hey kid, whataya doin'?!" A shout echoed from one of the three legionnaires that had gathered and stared at him.

Tyrael only stopped and slowly brought his head up to stare at the trio of men. He stared coldly, bags under his eyes as his toiled and exhausted body worked and pushed itself to see his family off in a proper way.

Finally, he had gotten his parents together and his brother, lining them up together and bringing their hands together. Tyrael then fell to his knees into the sand, putting his forehead in the sand as he leaned in and began to sob uncontrollably. He balled out of control, screaming out in rage as he stared up at the sky. He didn't know what to do.

All he could do was scream and hope that a god, a goddess, some deity would answer him. His tears fell to the sand as they barely made a mark in the dry, hot substance, steam picking up from the tear drops falling in the sand.

So he sat there, and screamed. Until he couldn't scream anymore.

[Muse]

It took him hours to find enough wood around the desert to suit a funeral pyre. Tyrael had worked, and he did not sleep for two nights. He was determined to make sure that he got the wood.

He finally had a tall, about four feet of height pyre of dead wood, stacked neatly into horizontal and vertical rows.

He grunted, time going past in the grueling sun that seemed to never go away. He dragged his parents and his brother one at a time onto the funeral pyre.

He had gone in the city, sighing as he looked down at a two inch tall urn of his that was empty and attached to a silver chain. He then looked to his family, stiffling back tears as he used his flint and tinder.

He set his family alight, the fire climbing high up into the air as he simply sunk to his knees and watched blankly as the skin and flesh of his family slowly melted and burned, the bones breaking down and crumbling into ash as the hours went on. He had no expression on his face.

He was blank. His face was blank. His mind, however, was full of strife and grief.

Once his family had finally turned into complete ash, he slowly moved forward. He opened the urn with the tip of his thumb, flicking it open as he grabbed small pinches of ash from several different spots of the fire and sprinkled it into the necklace ornament before he closed it full to the brim.

He clenched his fist around the urn. He stared at the sand, now consumed with overwhelming rage.

He swore from that moment on, that he'd find the assassins that ended his family.

And he'd be the one doing the assassinating.

[Muse]

Three months later..

Tyrael stood there, tasked as he guided a horse around through the sands. He sighed as he wiped the sweat from his brow, holding the reigns of a large, white horse in the other hand.

A voice called out from a large manor in Moszabbar.

"Make sure he gets his exercise or I'm cutting yer' pay!" A loud, obnoxious voice was heard yelling out at Tyrael.

Tyrael waved up at him with a nod. Once the man had moved away from the second story window of the manor, he turned that wave into an obscene hand gesture with a sigh. He then began to lead the horse along the paths of Moszabbar, increasing his pace every now and then to make sure the horse got it's exercise with a bit of trotting.

Then, Tyrael returned his horse to the hitching post in front of the large manor. A sack of gold laid there in the sands.

He reached down to pick it up, as the man came outside to lead his horse around to the private stable he had.

Tyrael counted through the coin, sighing as he put it away in his pack. The child then made his way to the merchants near the caravans.

Hopefully, this would be enough to get him some bandages and food for a decent while.

He shook his head and cursed at himself. He hated this life. Taking odd jobs and doing tasks of physical labor for random people he had to beg to take his offer of work. It was only a matter of time before he'd make himself known.

And one goal was still looming in his mind..

[Muse]

Eleven years later.. Tyrael was now 21 years of age. His times of doing nothing but physical labors to make coin to live on his own had gotten him to a stocky, much more powerful frame. For the past 11 years he has been training with a longsword in his past time, as well as exercising as regularly as he could.

Tyrael loomed heavily over his pint of ale in the middle of the Drunken Naga. He stared down into the middle of the large drink in his hand, clenching his fingers around the handle for a few moments. The sounds of drunken idiots and shady dealings loomed behind him.

He had just finished moving in furniture for another house owner, one of the larger houses near the old mulhorandi tower. He had sighed, a fresh sack of coins was attached to his belt.

"Whataya say we get ourselves a round, ey?! The job got us some good pay." A nasal voice behind him was rather irritating. A small round of agreements was also heard behind him.

Tyrael piped up, sitting up straight as his fist clenched, and he slowly uncurled his fingers from the handle of his ale to stand up. He then turned around and looked at the group of men behind him. He had never saw the faces of the men, but he remembered their voices. It was embedded into his memory, voices that haunted him these past 11 years.

"That's ah.. hefty load of coin ya' got there." The nasal voiced man gestured at his belt. He was tall, slim with a scar under his chin, and long shaggy brown hair.

Tyrael then looked around the other three men present, and studied each of them. One elf, looking about five feet tall. A half-orc that seemed to be the stocky build of the company, and another elf.

The four men stared holes into Tyrael as he looked between them. Then the firelight shined as the elf flashed his dagger, the clearly enchanted metal shining as they all stared expectantly at Tyrael.

Tyrael had no armor on, but he had his sword crossed diagnolly along his back. Tyrael had only smirked then and he then gestured at the door.

"If you four want to talk business~, we can go outside." Tyrael had only confidently replied.

The four assassins looked between each other. The rough, rugged men quite obviously confused but they ended up chuckling and nodding up and down.

"Yeah.. Let's do that." They said.

Tyrael more than happily walked into the nasal man and bumped his large frame into the tall, slim frame, making him grunt out as he stumbled to the side a little bit. Tyrael smirked as he walked right out the door, hearing a growl behind him as he heard the armored boots tread behind him with much more of a purpose.

They walked out of the naga and past the cliffs, near that hot springs bar along the cliffs.

Tyrael halted and drew his sword, the other men walking confidently behind him, clearly not expecting Tyrael to stop his march forward as he immediately drew his sword and swung behind him. He had hit one of the elves right along the forehead, smirking as the scalp of the elf slowly slid off of his head and to the sand. He looked to the ground, Tyrael backing up five or so feet as the other men immediately drew their blades and got into a combat stance.

They stayed their distance at first, Tyrael looking to see a small sliver of the elf's brain had fallen into the sand with that scalp.

The other elf charged forwards, dual wielding short swords as Tyrael quickly dodged an overhead slash diagnolly from his right side, dodging to the left as he tossed his longsword over to his left hand and jabbed forwards, catching the elf in his side to gut him. The elf stopped, quivering as blood began to leak out onto the blade.

Tyrael gritted his teeth as he yanked back and withdrew his blade from the elf, the elf now falling into the sand slowly on his face, his body slumping forward as blood leaked from the body and onto the sand.

Surprisingly enough, the half-orc turned his ass around and started running away. He then look to that tall, slim figure. Tyrael gritted his teeth and stared at the man he so despised, the man thats caused him so much trauma and hardship.

Tyrael charged forward, that tall figure looking nervous as he gulped.

Tyrael made one quick, sideways slash. He merely stood there for a few long, slow moments as the figure to his right slowly slumped over, the lower half of his body falling backwards and the top half falling forwards.

Tyrael sighed now as he slid his sword back into it's scabbard.

He inspected his work with a smile, and he stared up at the sky for a few moments.

He then strolled through the sands and past that little hidden, side area near the cliffs. He walked back into the drunken naga, eyes and voices stopping their conversations and looked at him, the blood soaked man that was just there beforehand walking in and taking his same stool on the bar.

He slowly clenched his fingers around the handle of his ale that he had left in the same spot earlier.

He dipped his head down, and began staring right into his cup once again, continuing his thoughts as if it was a normal days work. Then, he piped up and headed next door to the citadel.

"I wonder if the legion will take me.." He thought as he casually strode through the sands towards the large, striking structure of the Moszabbar citadel.

[Muse]

A year later..

He casually strode along the western desert walls of Moszabbar on wall duty.

It was deep at night, around one in the morning.

Tyrael grunted as he strode and patrolled steadily, keeping his pace steady and consistent as he walked along the wall, giving quick side glances out to the outside and inside of the wall to scan the city and city outskirts for any sort of trouble.

His full plate clanked with every step as he kept his longsword sheathed for now as he moved forward for a few hundred yards, turned and walked in the opposite direction. He looked around for the other orcs and the occasional human that was on wall duty with him.

He had heard stories that the Thazalhar legion gives a slow rise in ranks to it's legionnaires.

He was willing to wait.

He was proud to be from Moszabbar.

And sooner or later, he looked up into the sky and thought of Tayven.

And Tayven's goals of becoming a thayan knight.

From that moment on, he was going to carry out his big brother's role of being a leading figure and to one day become one of Thay's finest commanders.

And nothing was stopping him now.

[Muse]

((Changing post thread name and since there's that little background of Tyrael's life there and present, I have no real need to go back more into his background. From now on this will be a journal entry thread that I will post on with descriptions in Tyrael's POV of current events that happen within the Thay PW and whatever he comes across in his travels, journies, and encounters with other characters.))

[Muse]

After long and lingering days of constant activity, Tyrael shifted and made his way up the set of stairs of the Draconis tower in Moszabbar. He had just helped his Mistress up and into her own bedroom, as he stopped on his floor and opened the door from the stairwell, walking straight ahead to his room. He opened the door to his room and slammed it shut, not really caring whether or not Shebali was present in her room that was next to his or not. He sat down at his writing desk, and removed a brand new book bound with black leather. He opened it to the very first page, dipped an already present feather quill into an already present ink well and began to write in fluent Mulhorandi letters...

"The days grow longer, and more tiring. My constant efforts to remain a presence of command for the legionnaires here in the Thazalhar legion makes me try and whip them into shape as often as I can. I can only hope that the current officers will get off of their lazy couches and start becoming active with the new threats made by the cultists of Eltab and the now three attacks where we have lost dozens of legionnaires."

Tyrael took a long inhale, with a sharp exhale and re-dipped his writing utensil and began to write even more.

"As time grows on, the long, nine months of Mistress Renee's pregnancy I hope will come to an end soon. It is quite stressful since I was claimed by her, and when I am away helping the supreme thayan knight commander with tasks or aiding my friends with tasks, I can only worry and stress over her current safety. But I know she will call upon me when she needs me. The constant strain on my mind to protect Mistress Renee and her unborn child will forever be on my mind. But I am conflicted.. The two most important people in my life, my mistress, and my love Amalia are both in pregnancy.. It will test me more than I have ever been tested before. But I will lay down my life before I let anything happen to these women and their unborn children."

Tyrael re-dipped his quill and resumed.

"I can only hope that this new decree that Knight Lachlan and I have thrown together will gather the support of some of the most powerful figures in Thay. The current states of the legions is sloppy, of course except for the Eltabbar legion that is whipped into shape by Tribune Baxter. The Lapendrar still lies in shambles, and the Priador still gathers more and more commoners and filth upon their enlisted ranks. It is the upmost priority that the five core cities that are accessible by the crossroads of Thay be at their peak of efficiency as far as their legions. Knight Lachlan says he can gather an audience with Zulkir Thrul and Tharchion Dimon. And I trust him, one hundred percent. He has proven to be a valuable ally with a similiar mindset that I also share that has also shared many similiar experiences to mine. I will call upon him for advice whenever needed, as in the past I myself have proved to be too kind to those of the likes of Lieutenant Maximilian and Marister."

Tyrael stopped writing and let a smirk kick onto his face as he dipped his quill once more and finished writing.

"He proves to have the most.. effective suggestions."

He laid his quill down and slowly closed his journal with a long, deep breath as he stood up and changed from his armor to his comfortable clothing, and immediately dove into his bedding for a much needed night of sleep.