06-23-2019, 11:23 PM
..I wouldn’t be surprised if there will be attempts made to infiltrate the student body. Apprentices tend to be easier to sway than most, and it would mirror strategies used at Duskwither.
Vel mused to herself, pausing only long enough to scan the top sentence of each paper as she rapidly leafed through a stack of notes. Periodically, she would pluck a sheet free from the others and set it aside before continuing. Several other papers had already been filed in neat stacks elsewhere on the desk she was utilizing, clearly adhering to some sort of order that the elf had established.
Should also suggest checking on any graveyards. If only as a precaution to prevent establishing any direct links from Silvermoon to Da-
The thought was interrupted as the mage stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, her face momentarily obscured by the papers she was clutching. However, she smoothly returned to her prior action, her eyes drooping only slightly more than they were before.
If I can just get through the last of my notes from Silvermoon tonight I’ll be satisfied.
The study itself was dimly lit, largely only illuminated by the fire flickering in the hearth and the soft, blue glow that radiated from the mana wyrm that was coiled contentedly on a nearby sconce. Vel had likely considered lighting a candle hours ago as the sun started to set, but the thought had never been acted upon as her own keen vision rapidly adapted to the fading light.
“Get the journal I left on the shelf near the chair,” she said to no one as she extended a hand to empty air expectantly. The elf once again stifled a yawn with her other hand.
However, nothing appeared.
She frowned, turning to look in the direction of the book she desired, and saw that it had remained motionless on the shelf. Vel stared at it blankly for a moment. When it still didn’t move, she sighed, rubbing her temple.
“Right. That spell probably wore off over an hour ago.”
The elf dropped her notes back on the table and strode over to retrieve the book herself, her bare feet padding softly on the cool stone floor. There was a scolding hiss from the sconce, and Vel glimpsed the glow of her familiars eye bleeding through an only partially open lid.
“You’re welcome to go to bed now, Arkha, if it’s such an inconvenience,” the mage replied dryly. “I should be done within the hour.”
She flipped open the journal as she turned to go back to her desk, already rapidly skimming the pages for the section she desired.
But she stopped, her long ears pricking up at a noise from behind. A soft chuckle.
Vel turned her head quickly, her faintly illuminated eyes scanning the shadowy corners of the otherwise empty room. Her mouth thinned into a narrow frown.
“Galadin, if that’s you, I suggest you leave. I’m not in the mood.”
Silence.
The woman scoffed, blowing a stray strand of white hair from her face and returning to the book as she set it down on the table. Her vision was vaguely blurry, but it was still clear enough that she could process the neatly written runes on the pages of the journal--even if she was doing so a second or two slower than she normally did. She caught the word “Sunwell” in the keywords she had written at the top of the page, and she stopped, quickly scanning the rest of the section.
It was a (rather old) theory she had jotted down regarding the potential effects of a non-Quel’dorei attuning to the font of magic.
The woman’s lips narrowed again.
Not that it really matters now.
There was another chuckle, and the woman whirled around.
“I said I’m not in the mood,” she said more firmly, an icy edge to her tone as any shred of patience she possessed rapidly crumbled.
Again, silence.
Vel’s eyes flickered over to Arkha’din, who now had his head tilted in confusion as he regarded his Mistress. The elf’s brown furrowed at the reaction, and she took a few steps away from her desk, heading back toward the fireplace as she peered down the shadowy halls between the bookshelves.
She sighed, running a hand down her face as she cupped her elbow with her other one. “...I might be more tired than a thought,”
Her eyes slid idly around the room, the edges of the shelves more blurred than they should have been between the dim light and her own weariness. A book was plucked from its shelf and reordered before she walked toward the hearth and leaned against the back of the worn couch.
“...maybe we should just go to bed Ar-” Vel started, but then her blood ran cold as she heard the chuckle from directly behind her. She whirled around again, panicked, her left hand curled into a claw as she prepared to twist it in the somatic components needed for a spell.
Her eyes fell on the mantle, and the small, crude doll that sat upon it next to the ornate urn that held the ashes of the man that formerly owned the manor. It had been mostly forgotten. Purged of its enchantments and kept solely because of the sympathetic link it may hold to the one that created it.
“He… can’t be…” the mage’s voice came in barely a whisper as she hastily skirted the couch and pulled the doll off the mantle. With a wave of her hand, the elf’s vision shifted, picking up the ambient traces of magic scattered throughout the study. The teleportation circle hidden in the bricks of the floor. The few scrolls she had scattered about. The magic wafting off the fire in the hearth.
There was no trace on the doll.
A wary hiss came from Arkha’din as he continued to watch his Mistress with a degree of confusion, his body slowly uncoiling from his perch.
Vel sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to calm herself.
It’s fine. Auditory hallucinations. Likely triggered by exhaustion. That’s all it is.
Her eyes slid open again, suddenly keenly aware of the details on the doll in her hand. It was crude. It bore only a vague resemblance to herself, especially with the snow white of her hair and the change of her preferred wardrobe, but it was still clearly meant to be in her likeness.
And the memory of the stitched mouth on its face mocking her in Dar’khan’s voice loomed to the forefront of her memory. Right before the banshee rose from the grave, and she desperately fought to stay alive.
Always two steps behind.
Her thoughts shifted to the battle at the Sunwell, and the image of Dar’khan laughing maniacally as he slit his own throat--knowing full well that he had once more escaped, and the elf’s grip tightened on the doll for a moment, her lips a thin line as the taunts echoed in her mind, before she suddenly threw it into the fireplace.
It landed limply among the flames, but did not catch fire, as she knew it wouldn’t. The continual flame lapped at the fabric, the action of throwing it having been solely for some sort of catharsis, but Vel found her eyes transfixed, and her breath caught in her throat.
The sounds of screaming filled her ears, and she suddenly became keenly aware of the scent of smoke. Images of orcs hurling themselves through streets littered with elven bodies flashed across her weary mind.
Buildings crumbling and going up in flames.
Children crying for parents that they’d never find.
Noncombatants pushing and shoving, trying desperately to get to safety as monsters carved through their number as easily as a knife through butter.
Vereesa disappearing into the canal, unable to fight the current to get to the teleportation circle Jaina had opened.
Her father, unconscious, dragged through the portal by Vincent.
Uther, covered in his own blood, laying still on the floor of his bedroom after she witnessed the demonic creature’s blade cleave into his gut.
The way Linore’s voice shuddered when she informed her niece that Sylvos had been cut down defending the port. The sorrow in her father’s eyes when she informed him his brother was lost.
How tightly Talath squeezed her when he realized his parents likely wouldn’t be coming back.
Vel forced herself to breathe, the intake coming sharply as she rushed forward and pulled the metal shutter down over the magical fire with a loud CLANG that cast the room into darkness and masked the sight of the doll in the flames.
Stop. Don’t think. Stop thinking. Blank it out. Focus elsewhere. Get. A. Hold. On. Yourself.
A croon from behind her drew her attention, and the elf spun more hastily than intended.
Arkha’din snapped his jaws, now completely dislodged from his perch and hovering a few feet away. Without thinking, the mage lifted her arms slightly, and the mana wyrm slithered beneath her chin, wrapping his body securely around her shoulders.
“...Lets… go,” she said stiffly, forcing herself out of the momentary state of panic to instead abandon the study. She started to walk briskly toward the stairs that lead to her bedroom, though she remained alert.
For as much as she would deny it, secretly she hoped she would catch any noise indicating Rhonin or Talath were still awake.
Vel mused to herself, pausing only long enough to scan the top sentence of each paper as she rapidly leafed through a stack of notes. Periodically, she would pluck a sheet free from the others and set it aside before continuing. Several other papers had already been filed in neat stacks elsewhere on the desk she was utilizing, clearly adhering to some sort of order that the elf had established.
Should also suggest checking on any graveyards. If only as a precaution to prevent establishing any direct links from Silvermoon to Da-
The thought was interrupted as the mage stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, her face momentarily obscured by the papers she was clutching. However, she smoothly returned to her prior action, her eyes drooping only slightly more than they were before.
If I can just get through the last of my notes from Silvermoon tonight I’ll be satisfied.
The study itself was dimly lit, largely only illuminated by the fire flickering in the hearth and the soft, blue glow that radiated from the mana wyrm that was coiled contentedly on a nearby sconce. Vel had likely considered lighting a candle hours ago as the sun started to set, but the thought had never been acted upon as her own keen vision rapidly adapted to the fading light.
“Get the journal I left on the shelf near the chair,” she said to no one as she extended a hand to empty air expectantly. The elf once again stifled a yawn with her other hand.
However, nothing appeared.
She frowned, turning to look in the direction of the book she desired, and saw that it had remained motionless on the shelf. Vel stared at it blankly for a moment. When it still didn’t move, she sighed, rubbing her temple.
“Right. That spell probably wore off over an hour ago.”
The elf dropped her notes back on the table and strode over to retrieve the book herself, her bare feet padding softly on the cool stone floor. There was a scolding hiss from the sconce, and Vel glimpsed the glow of her familiars eye bleeding through an only partially open lid.
“You’re welcome to go to bed now, Arkha, if it’s such an inconvenience,” the mage replied dryly. “I should be done within the hour.”
She flipped open the journal as she turned to go back to her desk, already rapidly skimming the pages for the section she desired.
But she stopped, her long ears pricking up at a noise from behind. A soft chuckle.
Vel turned her head quickly, her faintly illuminated eyes scanning the shadowy corners of the otherwise empty room. Her mouth thinned into a narrow frown.
“Galadin, if that’s you, I suggest you leave. I’m not in the mood.”
Silence.
The woman scoffed, blowing a stray strand of white hair from her face and returning to the book as she set it down on the table. Her vision was vaguely blurry, but it was still clear enough that she could process the neatly written runes on the pages of the journal--even if she was doing so a second or two slower than she normally did. She caught the word “Sunwell” in the keywords she had written at the top of the page, and she stopped, quickly scanning the rest of the section.
It was a (rather old) theory she had jotted down regarding the potential effects of a non-Quel’dorei attuning to the font of magic.
The woman’s lips narrowed again.
Not that it really matters now.
There was another chuckle, and the woman whirled around.
“I said I’m not in the mood,” she said more firmly, an icy edge to her tone as any shred of patience she possessed rapidly crumbled.
Again, silence.
Vel’s eyes flickered over to Arkha’din, who now had his head tilted in confusion as he regarded his Mistress. The elf’s brown furrowed at the reaction, and she took a few steps away from her desk, heading back toward the fireplace as she peered down the shadowy halls between the bookshelves.
She sighed, running a hand down her face as she cupped her elbow with her other one. “...I might be more tired than a thought,”
Her eyes slid idly around the room, the edges of the shelves more blurred than they should have been between the dim light and her own weariness. A book was plucked from its shelf and reordered before she walked toward the hearth and leaned against the back of the worn couch.
“...maybe we should just go to bed Ar-” Vel started, but then her blood ran cold as she heard the chuckle from directly behind her. She whirled around again, panicked, her left hand curled into a claw as she prepared to twist it in the somatic components needed for a spell.
Her eyes fell on the mantle, and the small, crude doll that sat upon it next to the ornate urn that held the ashes of the man that formerly owned the manor. It had been mostly forgotten. Purged of its enchantments and kept solely because of the sympathetic link it may hold to the one that created it.
“He… can’t be…” the mage’s voice came in barely a whisper as she hastily skirted the couch and pulled the doll off the mantle. With a wave of her hand, the elf’s vision shifted, picking up the ambient traces of magic scattered throughout the study. The teleportation circle hidden in the bricks of the floor. The few scrolls she had scattered about. The magic wafting off the fire in the hearth.
There was no trace on the doll.
A wary hiss came from Arkha’din as he continued to watch his Mistress with a degree of confusion, his body slowly uncoiling from his perch.
Vel sighed, closing her eyes for a moment to calm herself.
It’s fine. Auditory hallucinations. Likely triggered by exhaustion. That’s all it is.
Her eyes slid open again, suddenly keenly aware of the details on the doll in her hand. It was crude. It bore only a vague resemblance to herself, especially with the snow white of her hair and the change of her preferred wardrobe, but it was still clearly meant to be in her likeness.
And the memory of the stitched mouth on its face mocking her in Dar’khan’s voice loomed to the forefront of her memory. Right before the banshee rose from the grave, and she desperately fought to stay alive.
Always two steps behind.
Her thoughts shifted to the battle at the Sunwell, and the image of Dar’khan laughing maniacally as he slit his own throat--knowing full well that he had once more escaped, and the elf’s grip tightened on the doll for a moment, her lips a thin line as the taunts echoed in her mind, before she suddenly threw it into the fireplace.
It landed limply among the flames, but did not catch fire, as she knew it wouldn’t. The continual flame lapped at the fabric, the action of throwing it having been solely for some sort of catharsis, but Vel found her eyes transfixed, and her breath caught in her throat.
The sounds of screaming filled her ears, and she suddenly became keenly aware of the scent of smoke. Images of orcs hurling themselves through streets littered with elven bodies flashed across her weary mind.
Buildings crumbling and going up in flames.
Children crying for parents that they’d never find.
Noncombatants pushing and shoving, trying desperately to get to safety as monsters carved through their number as easily as a knife through butter.
Vereesa disappearing into the canal, unable to fight the current to get to the teleportation circle Jaina had opened.
Her father, unconscious, dragged through the portal by Vincent.
Uther, covered in his own blood, laying still on the floor of his bedroom after she witnessed the demonic creature’s blade cleave into his gut.
The way Linore’s voice shuddered when she informed her niece that Sylvos had been cut down defending the port. The sorrow in her father’s eyes when she informed him his brother was lost.
How tightly Talath squeezed her when he realized his parents likely wouldn’t be coming back.
Vel forced herself to breathe, the intake coming sharply as she rushed forward and pulled the metal shutter down over the magical fire with a loud CLANG that cast the room into darkness and masked the sight of the doll in the flames.
Stop. Don’t think. Stop thinking. Blank it out. Focus elsewhere. Get. A. Hold. On. Yourself.
A croon from behind her drew her attention, and the elf spun more hastily than intended.
Arkha’din snapped his jaws, now completely dislodged from his perch and hovering a few feet away. Without thinking, the mage lifted her arms slightly, and the mana wyrm slithered beneath her chin, wrapping his body securely around her shoulders.
“...Lets… go,” she said stiffly, forcing herself out of the momentary state of panic to instead abandon the study. She started to walk briskly toward the stairs that lead to her bedroom, though she remained alert.
For as much as she would deny it, secretly she hoped she would catch any noise indicating Rhonin or Talath were still awake.