#return to eldre'thalas

[caedun]

"Lord Felscythe, I'm here on behalf of the Black Harvest." The hooded man said as he approached. "I'm be honest, when I was told it was to come aid an illidari investigation I thought they were joking. You lot normally play everything close to the chest. What am I looking at?"

Dalaran was, as ever, abuzz. Though the Legion's defeat had bled out the throngs of adventurers long ago, they had been replaced by the returned students of the arcane, their instructors, and all manner of magical researchers now focused on the threat represented by the Primals--and Shadowflame.

With the threat of the Broken Isles so significantly reduced, the Fel Hammer's traversal gate was only occasionally opened, and so Illidari had become a rarer sight in the city of magic. As a result, Caedun had drawn himself a small crowd of onlookers, both students and proprietors, that feigned busywork and conversation while watching him with a curiousity that was only redoubled by the arrival of Nixalegos.

Next to the forges in the Magus Commerce Exchange he sat upon a simple sackcloth sheet, arms folded and legs similarly knotted. The Illidari focused an intent glower on the neatly-organized components of some mechanical instrument in front of him, as though attempting to threaten answers out of the assorted pieces. His quiet menacing of inanimate objects was broken, however, by the approach and inquiry from the Warlock. He looked up, his tightened posture easing slightly, a short nod offered in greeting.

"Normally. But this is a special case, worthy of collaboration," he rasped in response, unlinking his arms and gesturing to the pieces with two clawed fingers on his right hand.

"I brought it to our own technical specialists, but we needed someone with more expert knowledge as it didn't match anything in our archives. I found a Legion splinter group attempting to activate it near Eldre'thalas; I decided disabling it would be prudent before I dispatched them."

Judging by the shattered but organized state of some of the finer component pieces, Caedun clearly did not have time to--or perhaps at all attempt to--find an "off" switch. Those two fingers crept forward, twice-tapping a single object on the sheet. A fist-sized, chipped crystal; matte grey with the faintest traces of fel green in its depths.

"This is the only part I am familiar with. It is reminiscent of Legion portal power crystals I've previously... interacted with."

He withdrew his hand and rest both in his lap, elbows outward at stringent angles, and returned his gaze to the Warlock.

"What do you think?"

--

((Sorry I took so long!))

[shylmenra]

RETURN TO ELDRE’THALAS (10)

Biting her lip, the demure arcanist takes a long pause, subtly attempting the quell the rising tide of magic that threatened to overtake her. Snaking through her veins like a covetous, hungry thing, the infused Arcwine burned her from the inside like purest frostfire. It wasn’t entirely unpleasurable; however--unexpected and inopportune--it derailed her train of thought, rendering her mute as the vast majority of her concentration was expended upon the task of keeping herself contained.

Even still, entangled in its grip, with it offered so nonchalantly there was the urge for...-more-. She could no more fight against this desire than she could turn day to night. And so, she merely nodded in agreeance with both his assertion and his question, holding out her glass with limp fingers to fill both empty cup and empty space for her receding voice.

It was of course, as the Archmage desired. One never dealt with a Whitespire without an ace in the pocket. The family was inordinately powerful; and even this graceful swan, Cyan’thiel Whitespire’s youngest daughter, possessed his fiery soul within her frosty exterior. He suspected she had no idea what really happened to her parents; else, he couldn’t imagine that she would have willingly returned to Eldre’Thalas. It was not the time nor was it his place to inform her, however. The Archmage had other goals in mind this day, and his ambition allowed for naught to get in the way of his aims.

With a flick of his wrist, the decanter hovered up from its resting place and levitated over to her trembling glass, filling it well and full again before returning to top off his own and return to its place on the table. Taking a long sip, he set his glass down with a soft thud. Time to get to the point, and quickly, while she was subdued.

“My dear Miss Whitespire. Your beauty and grace are indeed as it has been said, and your skill in magic is formidable.” When her answer was merely a quizzical arched brow, he nodded, continuing quickly. “More so perhaps than even you realize.” The Archmage pushed himself up from his desk, gave one firm tug at his robes to situate them, and padded languidly forward toward the scrying pool which exuded its light in the corner of the office, shimmering and quiet. With a wave of his hand over its placid surface, the illumination increased, slowly coalescing into colors and shapes to help make his point.

“You, my dear, are not just an arcanist; you are a -sorceress-. You are the scion of an ancient magical bloodline. More than that: you likely could out-do them all, should you wish.” Peering aside toward her, with a wave of his arm he invited her forward. The shapes in the pool took on the form of a delicate spire, spiraling in concentric circles toward the ceiling; the colors turned blue and ice-white. “I am aware of your feat at the Nexus with your ‘Collective’. Is it lost upon you that most who would dare such a task would have perished? I assure you, it certainly wasn’t the -human- mage who ensured that feat was successful.” Light gushed through the structure, pouring out of the top of the model tower; pulsing to the ceiling where it crawled toward the edges of the room, vanishing in seeking fingers of smoke.

[nightscng-a]

Lysirae was once betrothed to a Highborne Spellblade. They were fond of each other and over time, they would have fallen in the deepest love there was. Unfortunately , he died in his defense of the people of Eldre'thalas during the genocide after promising lysirae he would return with her parents. They were both teenagers at the time.

[seilune]

📔

Diary Entry: 179

(Originally written on August 27, 2018)

I stopped by mother and father's villa this afternoon before returning to Zandalar. Mother and I shared a bottle of arcwine on the patio and chatted, catching up on each other's lives. It's strange not seeing her and father every day at Aubade, but I find comfort in knowing they are only across the city should I need them.I told her of the Agents’ recent establishment of an embassy in Zuldazar, and of the city of gold erected there. To my surprise, she knew much about the Zandalari and their lands, and we spent many hours discussing them. She told me about their frequent warring with the Night Elves in ancient Kalimdor and how only by the generosity of her people were the Zandalari allowed to keep their lands. I muse that these Trolls may still hold a grudge against elves even millennia later. While on the subject of antiquity, I inquired about the city of Eldre'thalas, curious about the history of where she and her House resided. She humored me, saying that it was a large kingdom comprised of three wings that branched out from the Commons located in the center of the city. The Capital Gardens was the most populated of the wings and housed many of her people, including a sect of Highborne Arcanists called the Shen'dralar, of whom she was a member. Their primary function was to scour the land for relics, tomes, and other artifacts for Queen Azshara, and to keep them protected within the city's walls.

Naturally, I was curious about what artifacts were hosted there, but she told me that they were too numerous to say. Over the span of 2,000 years, the Shen'dralar had uncovered a plethora of relics, and all data about them was kept recorded in librams and tomes. But she did say that artifacts of Troll, Vrykul, and even Draconic origin were studied in the Athenaeum, some of which she had researched herself in a vault she shared with one other. They could still be there, she explained, which prompted me to propose I venture to Feralas in the near future to seek out these artifacts. She did not protest, only suggesting I bring someone with me--particularly someone with an understanding of ancient relics and who would protect me should things go awry. She lended me her staff, saying it is imbued with an enchant that will allow me access into the Vault, and that only one other weapon in the world would have this exact enchant. Though there is an entire island of hidden treasures just waiting to be unearthed by the Agents in the South Seas, it seems there may be some right at our fingertips that are ripe for the picking. The wealth of knowledge that could be learned in Eldre'thalas may even aid as we begin establishing relationships with the Zandalari, and may point us in the right direction when we seek out their troves.

S.A.

[agameoftangledwebs-blog]

#13 The Warden and the Highborne

In the deterioration of Highborne Society those of Eldre'Thalas found themselves and their unique skills in an.. interesting position. Most of the leadership, and those who Saeros at least listened to, had done their political work well in convincing the Kaldorei that they needed them in these new and dangerous times. The world had changed for the worse yet again as the Aspect of Death roamed the skies unchallenged in his madness, scorching and breaking the land. Even with all the change some things simply didn't and requests for the acquisition of powerful, magical artifacts kept the few Shen'dralar that worked with their hands busy across one corner of Azeroth to the other. Some tools shouldn't be allowed out into the world either having been long ago plundered from ancient Highborne vaults or created anew and so they searched with ears to the ground for tales of such artifacts. Saeros and Elru had just returned from across the seas to Lor'Danel and then down into Ashenvale after one such scouring search in one of the Twilight Hammer's holdings in the Twilight Highlands. Saeros had stopped them and their sabers around a familiar lake to the Northwest of the newly built Stardust Spire for the evening to start their trip to the outpost tomorrow while they would be more likely to trade cat for Hippogryph in the daylight. Those magical artifacts lay in a solid wooden chest carved with runes by their campfire for the night while Saeros had stepped away, seeking a bath down by the lake before he needed to be appropriately more civilized in the nearer future.

Elru by now knew how to tend to a camp and was currently doing so while keeping an eye on their belongings and sabers. The swift, large changes in the world were jarring but her young, intelligent, and curious mind was able to take it all in and adapt as she saw fit but also as Saeros trained her. It could be as early as when Saeros is in the middle of dressing down, or a bit later after he's stepped into the waters to clean, but he'll get the sense that he's not alone, and that this is no mere wildlife, either.

It hadn't been the first time in his life or even on this short trip where Saeros had had both curious and malicious attention upon him when he took a few brief moments to himself. Until he was forced to act, he ignored it, and that set of gilded leather was unlatched and unbuckled as he set it off to a dry side along with his weaponry. One would expect scars with his age but oddly enough none were immediately apparent on his dark, muscled skin. Starkly naked he padded down to the shore and wadded into the lake up to his waist with a bar of crude soap in hand as he set about his task.

It was at this time as he washed that she appeared. One moment nothing, then the next pass over of his gaze and there she was standing at the water's edge in the same wear as Saeros had seen her before. Warden Lanath. No apparent hostility, as her ring blade was resting at her side with a slight dig into the dirt. Her gaze was as blank as ever, and if she was impressed with the quality of his physique she didn't show it.

Saeros didn't immediately acknowledge her, soaping up his hands and arms well to scrape off the nigh invisible layer of grime that covered him and his flesh did well to hide. A moment later proves that he'd simply been contemplating on what to say. "Some of us had wondered what became of those noble houses that carried our blood through newly Druidic veins.  I can see that the Warden's took their fair cut of those who could be controlled, trained, and made utterly loyal."

If he were looking right at her he'd notice the first real reaction she'd ever made around him, just a slight, brief tightening of the eyes and lips before it was gone. She drones, "I would have thought such lines of thinking were beneath those of the Highborne, self contained as you were."

"You'd be surprised how un-ignorant we were. Even when the War of the Shifting Sands upon the Kaldorei doorstep we knew of the blood spilled upon the sands and the clicking, chittering language that was Qiraji. We've several books on the subject."

"Ever opportunistic, but at least among you there are those who regularly maintain their knowledge and wisdom of the world. Some of you."

"More than the Wardens it would seem. How undyingly grateful you must be that Tyrande saved your miserable lives after Maiev so utterly shattered the trust held by your kind." He glances her way with an easy smirk while lathering up his chest and neck.

She remained impassive to that barb. "There is no trust lost, because such trust is irrelevant. Regardless of whether Maiev was right or wrong, the Warden's purpose remains. Innocent deaths, as they are referred, do not invalidate the existence of infractions, Saeros."

"Ah, and what such infraction have I performed to warrant this visit? Come to murder me on the excuse that by the virtue of my blood and talents I must be a power-hungry danger to the Kaldorei people?"

"This is merely that, Saeros, a visit. And to see how well you and your partner fare in your reintegration. There are others, I am told, who did not make the transition so.. seamlessly."

"And so as opposed to approaching me out in the open I find you here spying upon me and taking full advantage of my nakedness." His comments were all idle but they had steadily grown to have that teasing edge of laughter to them. He takes a moment to douse himself and slick off what suds were still clinging to him.

It was then that something wry seemed to slip into her otherwise dull tone. "You did not seem like someone favorably disposed towards tea."

"And how exactly am I expected to interpret your observation, Warden? Is that a not so subtle request?" A few steps are taken backwards to bring the level of the water to his knees while he goes about cleaning the more interesting rest of him.

"Don't speak such nonsense, Saeros. And how you interpret my observation is irrelevant to me." Her gaze remains the same, pointed in his general direction, irregardless of his cleaning.

"I wouldn't blame you. I can't imagine too many men willing to allow a Warden into their beds." Even as he spoke Saeros took advantage of the water and suds he coated himself with. Slicking one hand with its long fingers over the soft length in a leisurely fashion was slowly stirring him to a visible hardness. If he was more of a grower than a shower.. Elru was going to have a lofty task by the time Saeros got around to making a woman out of her.

Though her expression remained blank the specific point of her stare was fairly obvious. The corner of her mouth twitched as he continued to stroke to hardness, until she exhaled slightly and looked at Saeros proper. "I do not accept propositions regardless, Saeros. And I think my time spent here is sufficient for my visit's purpose. Next time I'll keep a mind not to disturb you during your... bath."

"Which in turn makes me wonder if you've ever had one at all."

"A simple visit to see that two of our returning Highborne are integrating as well as they should. It was not to watch you bathe."

"Two birds and one stone, Warden. Somehow I don't think you remember -every- Kaldorei who you fancy as strange that comes through Ashenvale."

"No. I do not. And I was not wrong to give you that regard, Saeros."

"Would you have killed us had you known for certain?"

"A possible outcome. I have been told by my sisters that there have been Highborne who roamed the world without desire to draw attention and without ill intent. I have had yet to meet such Highborne."

"The most likely. See--that too is something we knew of, Warden. We knew that your kind would circle around us and pick us off as a pack had you known we left Eldre'Thalas at all during the Long Vigil. Deception and redirection are necessary to live. I'd even venture that you shaped us into.. dysfunctional members of Kaldorei society."

"I cannot speak for that. I merely maintain vigil and be sent where my sisters have need of me."

"Ah, yes. Entirely guiltless aren't you? How about you tell me why you're here if it's not to.. take advantage of my charms or muscle your way through an intimidation." All the while Saeros continued to stroke his length, drawing back the foreskin to flick an index finger over the bright flash of silver pierced through the head of his shaft.

Her gaze drifted back to his working hand and the corner of her mouth twitched again. "It most certainly is not the former. And there's less point to the latter." She looks back up to him. "And you are not wrong. If I wanted to merely check on you I'd have remained hidden. I suppose I wanted to hear what you had to say for yourself if anything."

"I should have known you liked it better when they beg."

"... Your implicit teasing is unwarranted, Saeros."

"Elune forbid the day when a Warden incarcerates someone for the mistake of flirtation."

"If only," with extra drollness. Bout as close of a joke as she'll crack at the moment it seems.

"Do you find my unrepentant attitude over the manner of my birth to be in poor taste?"

She pauses a moment before responding. "... No. If I am to be fair, I suppose not. Pride is not exclusive to Highborne."

"And neither is bigotry."

A slight curl of her lip. "Neither is bigotry, if one is to call it bigotry."

"Racism then, if my heritage so offends you."

"I prefer simple intolerance."

"A light word for genocide."

"Of which there has been precedence time and time again, we both know this."

"With that logic, I'm surprised the entire Kaldorei population hasn't been put away. They just might.. make wrong choices and all become Demon Hunters."

"Our sense of self-preservation is a touch higher than that."

"Ah, so if you -could- you would. I understand now." His tone had become increasingly thick with edged humor.

Her eyes lift upward for a moment. "Warden reach is limited, and even if it weren't, no, we would not seek genocide on the Kaldorei."

"And I am not Kaldorei."

"Ostensibly, you are now."

"Then why the need to check up on me if I am Kaldorei?"

"Because doubts remain if Highborne do, in fact, desire to be Kaldorei."

"Unfortunately, Warden, you can't call a spade a shovel and then a spade again when its more convenient. Either we are or we are not. The middle ground is over-used and pointless."

"That is true of shovels and spades, but it appears in these times our roles and titles are not so set in stone. Regardless, if I were so swift in judgement as you say then we would not be having this conversation."

"Is that what this is?" Saeros muses aloud, releasing his grip on himself as he turns to face her more fully. "Now it seems to me that this is motivated by loneliness. When was the last time you were more Kaldorei than Warden, Lanath?"

"Apparently a conversation is what this is now as this is far more dialogue than is necessary. Loneliness is a non-factor and non-existent." She lifts her chin slightly. "And how would you define a Kaldorei in itself, Saeros?"

"In relation to you?"

"I suppose that would be most applicable here."

"Don't suppose. Tell me what you mean." His own tone had turned droning as he slowly wades through the knee-high water in her direction.

"You're the one I asked to define a what a Kaldorei is with the presumption that I am less of one." She doesn't appear threatened by his approaching closer.

"There we go. That's what I wanted. Tell me how its in any sense of the word 'healthy' that an individual sacrifices their time and talent to imprison countless individuals to maintain a constant watch over them, or wanders the lands in search of more to drag away to your vaults?"

"It can't always be about each and every individual. My 'sacrifice' of my time and talent as you call it differs little from the sacrifice of time and talent towards any societal need."

Saeros waves a loose hand as he steps entirely out of the water on his way over to her. "The last thing I want to do is get into a debate about the functions of society. If you're like any other of your kind you've accepted it on what morals you carry and won't see things any other way."

In a non-threatening but steady gesture she lifts her ring blade from her side and sets it in the dirt as a thin barrier between the two. "And you consider such morals flawed and lacking in basis?"

He doesn't seem to mind the gesture and he continues his pace till he's just about a yard from her, still fully naked and unarmed. Not a terribly smart idea given the size of her own weapon. "I believe every moral should be given as much thought as we give to our monetary investments--with every angle and advantage considered."

"I do not find the balancing of morality equatable to the checks and balances of monetary investments. If morals were to be scrutinized for advantages and disadvantages their purpose and point becomes lost over time."

"At my age, everything is simply varying shades of gray."

"If everything were but a shade of grey, everything would be permissible and nothing would be true."

"Then tell me something 'true'."

"Foremost, we are mortal. Even with extended lives, we're going to die."

"Correction. The Kaldorei are going to die."

"The Highborne are no less mortal. Unless this is a mistaken notion?"

"It would be, yes."

"What makes it a mistaken notion?"

"Do you understand the means behind why the Priestesses of Elune always establish moonwells at Kaldorei encampments first?"

"They are a foundation of our material and magical society, if not the primary one. Their presence is a necessity where Kaldorei reside in numbers. What of it?"

"Why is it a necessity? What purpose do the moonwells actually serve?"

"They empower and nourish us, regardless of magical talent."

"They are the means to which the Kaldorei have enjoyed their immortality. Tiny reflections of the Well of Eternity your Nordrassil has capped. Unless I missed something.. Where was the Moonwell for the Highborne in Eldre'Thalas?"

"I was not aware there was one in Eldre'Thalas, but that is a place I am not well informed on."

"There wasn't, Warden. That's the point I'm making."

She considers his words and offers only a cold, "I see. A compelling if unwelcome point, that you Highborne would do just as well without."

"Don't be so cross, Warden. It's unbecoming."

"Don't feign concern over my disposition, Saeros, it's unseemly from where I stand."

"You've made me care by forcing yourself onto my tolerance."

"You're the one so open to engaging. I did not need stay."

"And yet you are." Is his pointed response.

"Don't you have a bath to finish? Clothes to get dressed back in?" She says with a pointed glance down at him before looking back up impassive.

"I didn't think you were finished with me just yet."

"You look done and my curiosity has been adequately sated for the time being."

"Am I to be at your beck and call?"

"You need not be at my beck and call for me to be present."

"I meant it in the sense that your comment implied you'd be returning to me once your curisoity has been piqued once more."

"Who's to say if it will or not. It is part of my duties to give all those passing through a cursory glance. You may or may not give me reason the next time you pass through, if you do."

"I'd be wary about the why and who you focus upon in days like these with Maiev tarnishing that credibility."

"There may be others who think so, but those of us in the Wardens know better than to think our role and need is in any way diminished."

"Also not the implication. A little to focused on convincing me of that fact."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, as there is nothing else to be concerned with."

"Then continue on in your blissful ignorance."

"If that is what you insist on calling where I stand." She lifts and brings her blade back to her side. "May Elune look on you with some kindness, Saeros."

"I lost faith with her around the time when her Priestesses were bought. Often."

"During your time perhaps. But it is not your views and experience that are my purview as a Warden. Simply actions."

"Please, Warden. You make this too easy."

"Do not call me easy, Saeros."

"Then try to act your part. I do believe you were leaving."

She hmphs but cants her head regardless before turning away with a loose sweep of her bladed cape. "Goodbye, Saeros."

He doesn't bother with a farewell, turning around to collect his things.

Nothing will interrupt his bath further, though once he returns to camp he'll find an Elru that is straighter, curious and a touch on edge. "It was harder to tell from here, but did you have a visitor?"

Saeros was fully dressed by the time he returned to her, wringing out the worst of the water from his long hair. "Only our neighborhood Warden."

She was briefly confused but caught on quick as the memory returned, her expression souring. "Oh. Warden Lanath. What did she want?"

"I'm not certain even she knew."

"Maybe she was trying to scare you. It's not like we've done anything wrong by their standard."

"No. I prefer to give her a little more credit than her trying that against a Highborne."

"Mmm. Making her presence clear like that. Will you be seeing her again?"

"If she decides to press me again, yes."

"Are you going to kill her if that happens?"

"Perhaps."

"Good. She discomforts me greatly."

"Why is that?"

She thinks a moment. "I'm not sure how I can best describe it." She looks to Saeros. "She's like... less a Kaldorei, more a weapon. A tool fully and utterly embracing her role as a tool."

"On top of being a half-trained Arcanist."

"Half trained Arcanist, you say?"

"Think of them on the level as a Human Mage."

"Ahh. It is a rather broad and complementary skillset they carry, these Wardens."

"They hunt cunning prey."

She hums at that. "Do you think it's safe for me to take my turn at bathing now?"

"Should be safe enough."

She nods and moves to do so, going back the way Saeros came, though working more to maintain area awareness than Saeros needed to.

[shylmenra]

RETURN TO ELDRE'THALAS (9)

Taking a deep breath, Shy dared to slowly stand with a curtsy and began to pad around the room, away from his curious gaze. Taking in the voluminous books on the shelves as still she sipped at the wine, she shifted tack, carefully. “Your words are strong, my Lord. Most of our people remained here, in our great city, as I would have liked to..."

The ghost of a pout flickered across her lips, her eyes longing as they devoured his personal library. "However," she continued with a soft exhale, "I traveled the world as I was bid, following in the footsteps of my family, commanded to be a diplomat and disperse slivers of enlightenment to the other races of Azeroth. I have assisted the common folk in their magical needs; dispensed knowledge to the inhabitants of Darnassus, Stormwind, and Ironforge, respectively. I was to take my place in the Exodar, but, perhaps tragically, my tardiness due to my wandering led to Lady Moonlance taking the post.”

At that, Shy’s voice cracked and her eyes filled with unshed tears, causing the Archmage’s brow to arch in concerned query. Opening his mouth to question, Shy raised her hand to stop him, her head canting to the side in shame as she did so. “That is a tale for another time. Please, my Lord! Let me continue with this train of thought.” Balling a fist, she sniffed, slowly exerting control over her roiling thoughts. Another soft exhalation, slow and steady, and silver eyes peeked back open as she continued. “Nothing I saw impressed me. Raised and trained here as I was in Eldre’thalas, how could it? Darnassus is enchanting in the moonlight, yet devoid of a certain... spark. I admit, I’ve never been to the Kingdom of Quel’Thalas or the Isle of Quel’Danas, which remains a personal goal of mine. But then, then...I stepped foot upon the Broken Isles. Invited, personally, by Khadgar himself! Imagine that.”

Her eyes were shining bright as she told the tale, like two nether sparks dancing about the study. Her voice became slightly breathless while the Archmage again sat back and smiled, watching her with all the attention of the falcon upon the mouse. “Azsuna. Nar’thalas Academy. And even Suramar City…. I have seen what became of our people! They are beautiful and terrible. They make me tremble just thinking about them, and yet, I cannot stop wondering about them and their ease with the Art. Magic, which imbues all which they touch...clothing, jewelry, wine…”

At that she paused, peering down at the glass in her hand. Realization dawned upon her. This taste; this scintillating rush of the blood. She had tasted such before; that she had felt this surge in the veins, even become somewhat addicted to its unique infusion of bittersweet flavors and power.

Lifting her gaze from her dwindling glass, she peered at the Archmage, eyes luminous and dilated. Polishing off his own glass, he merely nodded with a small smile. “Arcwine. Twice-Fortified.” He paused to refill his goblet, holding the ruby concoction to the light. “It is quite amazing, isn’t it? I had some delivered when the Kaldorei established their foothold upon the outskirts of Suramar. I admit I’ve developed quite a taste for it - as it appears you have as well. Feel free to avail yourself of another.”

[shylmenra]

RETURN TO ELDRE'THALAS (7)

Time passed as it did in Eldre’thalas, strange and flowing in peculiar vectors, this way and that. The Tea was extended - yet, brief... and despite her best efforts afterward, Shylmenra could never quite recall what was said; much like a dream where the gist is retained but the details slip away all too quickly. In general, the citizenry seemed intrigued with her return, and she hoped the impression she’d made was a good one.

To signal the end, the Archmage rose from his seat, turning to address the assembled. Slowly ebbing away from his table in waves, robes of cobalt blue cascading down around his form like a living tide, he cleared his throat. A hush rapidly fell over the room as the guests looked up expectantly. Inclining his head with a studied neutral expression, he spoke. “Thank you all for your time. I hope you have enjoyed this brief respite in our hallowed halls, and that some exchanges of knowledge have taken place. Now, please excuse me. The Tea is concluded and I have some matters to attend to.” And thus, everyone began to take their leave as Lord Evenshade departed through the back door. It was over? Already? But she hadn’t… a tap-tap at her arm. Blinking, Shy glanced up furtively. A guard stood quietly and bent over, smiling gently. “My lady, please, follow me.” At that he bowed, pulling out her seat for her as she did as she was bid, taken back the way the Archmage had gone. Elevel was right: the Archmage didn’t just want to see her, her apparently did want to speak to her! A dizzying bit of corridor, to an imposing carved wooden door. The guard waved his hand and mumbled under his breath before turning the knob, and Shy tightened her shift about her shoulders as they stepped through the echo of protective magic to enter.

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’thalas (8)

Mordent Evenshade sat quietly at his desk, squinting through a magnifying glass at what appeared to be a set of minuscule scrolls. Handsome and ageless, the Archmage’s pale hair lingered upswept at his temples by the grace of a silver circlet; a faint bit of stubble climbed along his chin and cheeks, enhancing the dusky arch of his cheekbones. The dark lacquer of the wooden desk was mostly obscured with all manner of magical items such as crystal balls, focusing lenses, vials and parchment.

Glancing up at their approach, the parchment and magnifier sagged in the Archmage’s grip. With a nod to the guard, he quickly focused his gaze upon the young mage. Putting the items down he stood with fluid grace, a polite smile forming as he opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Ah, the White Dove. It has been far too long since we’ve seen each other. It was last in Darnassus, wasn’t it?” Skirting around the back of the antechamber, Shy curtsied, swallowing as the guard took his leave and quietly shut the door behind him. “I believe,” the Archmage continued, “that your company was in Teldrassil finding respite after one of their adventures. Such stalwart fellows among which you’ve found yourself! Seeking out the sore places of the world, attempting to soothe Azeroth’s woes and applying salve to the follies of lesser men. Noble indeed, if perhaps a bit distracting.” He gestured to the seat in front of his desk, again taking a seat only after she did. “I trust you still follow your vocation, though I can’t imagine you get much quality study time on the road?” Shy blinked but merely shrugged slightly, crossing her legs as her body contoured into a practised, poised seated posture. Clearing her throat, she calmed the torrent of rising thoughts and responded carefully. “The Collective is permissive with my comings and goings, expressing an understanding for my needs. Having a supportive role, I spend most of my time in towns and cities, and as such, avail myself of their libraries as much as I am able.” “Ah,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers as he watched her face. “So you have continued with your studies. This is good, this is good. Once a bookworm always a bookworm, isn’t that right.” His tone was light and the repeated words seemed jovial, though his eyes flashed with something else. Tilting her head as the faint blush rose over her cheeks--the ‘correct’ response to his comment--she nodded and grasped her courage to venture a bold question. “My lord. It is a true honor to be here in your private chamber, and may I ask why you wished to see me?” White brows arched as a faint flicker of surprise passed over his face. “I see you are every bit a Whitespire,” he murmured, appraising her. Leaning back into his chair, he pulled idly upon the front of his robe, straightening the fabric. With a deep breath, something inside the Archmage seemed to shift. Reaching for the glimmering decanter of ruby liquid upon a side table, he poured them both a portion of wine before taking a small sip and proceeding. “Lady Whitespire,” the Archmage intoned in his pleasing baritone, “I trust I needn’t inform you how different, and special, we are. Not only are we Highborne, but we did not cross the sea like our wayward brethren. We did not sup from the Sunwell and fundamentally change our form and function. We have kept up with our traditions and the the practice of magic in its purest form.” His voice was measured and almost theatrical, mesmerizing in its quality and intensity. Each consonant was crisp, accented, and clear as he slipped into what seemed a familiar didactic mode. “We did not forsake our origins in the songs of all the spheres and slip into nocturnal savagery. We did not fall into the self-righteous bitterness and excused depravity of the Sunstrider and his people.” Her face must have twitched. Raising one long finger as if to respond to her unspoken thoughts, he plowed forward. “My words are strong, but I mean no ill-will towards our kin. I am impressed and thankful that the Kaldorei have deigned to humor us once more, allowing us to back into their society, as you can attest. The covetous Sin’dorei as a whole may take a bit more convincing, though a few have seen the wisdom of returning for our knowledge." Swirling his wine, he paused, glancing at her askance. "Again, something you can attest to, my dear.” At that, the protective thoughts of her Kaldorei friends rising into her consciousness was momentarily overcome with a surge in her belly. Was he referencing Magister Winthalus? If so, how did he know? Despite his status as a paragon of her people, Shy began to feel slightly discomfited by the breadth of the Archmage’s knowledge. She was outmaneuvered, and the conversation was just beginning.

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’Thalas (6)

As Shy entered the tea room on Elevel’s arm, a classic vision in purple and silver, a hush fell upon the small crowd. Heads turned, as they naturally did when any door opens; quizzical glances drinking her in quickly, well-dressed nobles arching brows in unison as she and her escort paused.

Elevel cleared his throat. “The Lady Shylmenra Whitespire,” he announced, soft tenor strong and clear, with slight but purposeful emphasis on her family name. Eyes widened in recognition as Shy blushed faintly and curtsied, guided to her seat and taking it. Patting her arm as he helped her into her chair, Elevel leaned forward, murmuring into a delicate ear. “You’ll be fine, White one. I’m only a cantrip away.” With a daring, surreptitious wink, he quickly took his leave. ~~~~~~ The Tea began as Tea was wont to. The Archmage must have been elsewhere, for Shy could not see him. Polite, stilted commentary surrounded Shy, soon seeming to warp and pass over her. Perhaps she had been away too long; perhaps when she'd been there, she'd not engaged enough. Apologetic, apathetic gazes generally avoided making direct contact with her eyes, and she began to feel as though she were encased in some sort of ward, present but not wholly a part of the proceedings. Smiling and nodding absently as she sipped her tea and nibbled at petit fours, she soon found herself engaging in a favored coping mechanism and left the room mentally. Her mind wandered the craggy peaks and lush valleys of her own expansive mind as the swirl of conversation around her became a hushed buzz, like the soothing sound of a babbling brook... “Whitespire.” The sudden, crisp intonating of her name snapped back Shy's attention, abruptly halting her theorizing on the merits of frost versus arcane for survival in a desert situation. It was the lady to her right, the one with the impossibly high cheekbones and wickedly arched brows. Her puffed, augmented shoulderpads, an older fashion, bobbed with a distracting sheen as she garnered the younger elf’s attention. “It has been quite some time since one of you has been present within the Halls,” she murmured, as the waiter slid around refiling their teacups from a levitating pot. “We are thankful that you grace us with your presence.” Shy smiled bemusedly, uncertain at her tone. And so it began. Given her time in the Collective, Shy mused on how quickly one apparently forgot the subtle layers of Highborne conversation, and realized she missed the sometimes gruff but refreshing honesty of its members. Clearing her throat, the oft' shrinking violet squeezed her necklace for strength and, sitting a bit straighter in her chair, revved herself up to respond.

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’thalas (5)

Some hours later, with a gentle knock on the door, Elevel arrived. One of the maids answered and when she stepped back to reveal Shylmenra, the young attendant’s breath caught briefly in his throat. Shy’s long hair, typically braided and pinned, was down now, coiling about her face and shoulders in gentle waves of freshly fallen snow, glinting and pristine. The chosen gown was rather simple, but eminently flattering. Amethyst silk fell in clean lines from matching chiffon straps, criss-crossing in the back, leaving the bulk of her arms and shoulders bare. The neckline plunged to her cleavage, revealing just enough to entice, though a small chiffon cross-piece provided modesty (a minor alteration Shy herself had insisted upon). Delicate silver ear clasps, winding filigree around ample elven cartilage, matched the chain about her neck. The quiet comm-pendants rested there, glinting upon her breastbone: mute testimony to her connections outside of the City.

“M’lady,” he whispered, “I am here to escort you to the Archmage’s high tea”. At that, the maids nodded and abruptly vanished the way the attendant had come, leaving the boxes of bath-goods and dresses where they lay for the arcanist’s pleasure. As soon as they’d gone he approached her, eyes leveling upon hers. “My lady,” he began, conspiratorially, “if you have any need of me, merely touch this and say my name, and I will be by your side.” A slightly shaking finger reached out to tap her Collective comm pendant, and it flashed with blue light for a moment. Peering down, she blinked. “You surprise me, Elevel. Your concern is noted, appreciated, and...assuredly misplaced. It’s merely tea.” The words were throw away comments as her mind latched to his spell, categorizing it. The answering look he gave her was almost comical. Shaking his head slightly, he brushed an errant lock of his cerulean hair from his face. “Don’t misunderstand me. You will not come to any bodily harm. But surely we both realize that a Highborne high tea is not ever ‘just’.” Waiting for the gravity of that double-sided word to sink in, he was rewarded by the furrowing of her brow. “You truly worry,” she murmured, once again meeting his gaze. “You know something, as if more than just a pleasant chat is afoot.” Boldly taking her hand, the attendant gently led her to sit upon her chaise - an echo of Lord Starsong’s insistent tug upon her when she first arrived. Lips pursed in annoyance at the temerity of these Shen’dralari men, she exhaled and waited. “Permission to speak freely, Lady Whitespire?” At her tentative nod, he continued. “You must understand that you are one of few who...escaped.” “Escaped!? I studied here for most of my life until I was sent to follow my family in service to the greater good of Azeroth. I never felt in danger here. In fact, I wish I could have stayed....” The lie left her lips and floated upon the air, a well-scripted exchange that seemed rehearsed even to herself. A pang of fear tugged at her. His words of caution called forth unpleasant memories which she had compartmentalized, such as the quiet bones of Kariel Winthalus, and she felt her ice answer. Encasing her in a layer of permafrost, she quickly grew more numb and distant with each passing second. He gasped, the delicate hand in his rapidly growing cold in contrast to his warmth. He was losing her! Carefully considering his reply, he swallowed as the fire he hid within himself blossomed to his clutching fingers, seeking to meet her in kind. “Yes. We all know of the Whitespires. A family of enchanters and conjurers, your line is ancient, powerful, and bold; even feared.” Her expression of surprise rewarded him. He was keeping her present, and so he ventured onward. “The knowledge amassed in Eldre’thalas is vast, much of it unique in all the world. But if not tempered with keen awareness, it can also serve as a distraction. There have been dark happenings in these halls, which our people would just as soon forget.” Fidgeting a bit, he cleared his throat and allowed his flames to fully bloom, licking harmlessly up and around their conjoined wrists. “M’lady, your being here is no coincidence. The Archmage had been in Darnassus for quite some time, lobbying for Highborne-Kaldorei relations; and yet, now he is here. As you are here. Something may not be wrong, but something’s not quite right.” Shy took a long moment to study his flames, fluttering like a baby bird in their palms, allowing his words to sink into her cold exterior. Grossly overstepping the bounds of being an attendant, Elevel was sharing opinions which could put him in danger. Likewise, he was sharing his magic with her - another misstep, should any find out. She knew that he was earnest, and she shifted to a more calculating mode, though her mouth moved first toward the topic more comfortable. “You’ve been training. How?” At her question, he smiled, and the flames travelled up the length of her arm, caressing her cheek before winking out. Tiny droplets of water - defrosted condensation - remained. He sat back with a slight grunt, spent from the effort but trying not to show it. “I would be happy to tell you anything you wish to know, in good time. I am clearly now at your mercy, Lady Whitespire. I trust you and adore you and despair of you, as an exquisite creature is meant to.” Unlacing their hands, he produced a kerchief out of nowhere and brushed the dew off her arms, handing it over to allow her to blot her chest and face. “However, we must get you to tea, as the hour has already passed.” Standing abruptly, he sketched a bow as he helped her rise. “You will be fashionably late, and it will fit the mystique all the more. Allow me to take you, and we will talk again if you wish, and soon. Just promise to be careful and make every response a measured one.”

[shylmenra]

return to eldre’thalas (4)

That afternoon, a pair of young handmaidens arrived at Shylmenra’s quarters with a shy knock upon her door. They came bearing several parcels which levitated in behind them as they entered. A simple but effective cantrip, Shy mused. Directed the bed, the boxes sprung open to reveal their contents to the arcanist’s curious eye. One spilled forth with gowns and dresses, fabric in a rainbow of colors oft preferred by the Highborne elite. The other slid apart to reveal a myriad of soaps and lotions, loofahs and sponges of various consistencies, and other such bathtime luxuries.

Dipping into quick curtsies, the taller of the two, with her hair up in a bun, spoke. “My lady, we have been sent to prepare you for tea. Please allow us to attend to you.” With a quirked brow and slight nod from her, they set work drawing her bath. At the sound of the flowing water, bits of memories flashed across Shylmenra’s mind, like stones skipped across a pond. She recalled past times having fun in the tub as a child, glowing bubbles scrubbing her clean while her family spoke in murmured hushes in the next room. She recalled being a bit older, willowy and thin, walking through the City with the other nobles, the awed whispers of other children barely reaching her in an inarticulate sigh as they watched from the shadows. How she’d wished she could have played with them; she wondered if she’d looked as lonely as she’d felt. She remembered being curled up before a roaring fire as the elders sipped tea behind her, quietly yet heatedly discussing great matters of State as she read a book... “‘Tis ready, lady Whitespire.” Jarred from her thoughts by the bell-like murmur of the maid, Shy begged her name as she stepped toward the bath and disrobed. The maid smiled, genuinely pleased at the interest, providing it as she helped the noble arcanist into the bath. Her companion, sporting twin braids, padded in, proffering the bath-box to Shy. Pointing at the blue and lavender bottles, the maid obliged the noble by pouring some of the purple contents under the tap. The wayward Highborne slid in deeper as the bubbles accumulated, allowing the warmth of the water and the sweet scent of the bubblebath solution to lull her into a relaxed state.

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’thalas (3)

The days passed as they typically did in Eldre’thalas - that is to say: not typically at all. There was a peculiar chronomantic magic inherent to the ancient Elven city which bended perception. Perhaps at some point in the future it would be properly recognized, researched and understood. Was it was due to the eons of magical experimentation and training? Perhaps because of the tens of thousands of tomes bursting with powers barely bound. Of course, there was the humming of arcane pylons around which danced sentient shards of nether energy. But most of all, the keen scientist might have realized there remained the lingering echoes of an unimaginably powerful alien presence, one which in its rage had forever warped the very gravity of the area.

And, so, like wine in a Shal’dorei vintner's aging chamber, weeks skipped fleetingly by; though to Shy it seemed mere hours, perhaps days. Immersing herself in reading, helping to tackle the impossible shelving backlog in multiple libraries, and seeing to various small magical tasks and research...she slipped back into a life that was all too familiar. As before, the stories within the books were vivified, thanks in part to all the magic and in part to the sheer power of her imagination. Crowding out her recent adventures across Azeroth, the lines blurred between imagination and reality; thus, her memories seemed more and more like distant dreams, lulling her into a state of submissive bliss. And so it was that one day Elevel returned, finding her standing up on a ladder to return a small book to its highly-perched home. “Ah, there you are m’lady. I’ve been looking for you for...well, for a while. You can be difficult to find for the Radiant White Dove of Fallen Snow.” Clambering delicately down, using a cantrip to move her skirts aside as she held both hands on the laquered wood railing, Shy smiled bemusedly. “What’s this? Who calls me that.” Brushing her hands off on her apron, she scooted the ladder aside and, keeping one hand upon it for stability, stood before him. Blushing slightly, the lad smiled. “Maybe it is me. Maybe it is others. You know well your family’s standing. You have many names, whispered with everything from fascination to jealousy from the corridors.” His eyes glimmered as they beheld her expression of surprise. “I’m honored to have been assigned to you, truly. You are so...” A book near the edge of the ladder lost its precarious hold upon its shelf, toppling down with a smart thump, serving to startle both Highborne. Letting the interrupted thought go (realizing it was probably for the best) Elevel sighed and returned to his task at hand. Standing up a bit straighter, he intoned his instructed message with formality. “Today m’lady, I have come to invite you to high tea with his lordship Archmage Mordent Evenshade.”

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’thalas (2)

Later that evening as she was settled into quarters, there came a quiet knock on the door. Mind spinning with colors and world-building, Shy glanced up from the book she was lost within for...minutes? Hours? It was so hard to tell, being here again. Closing it with a soft thud, she sat up at the desk, straightening her back into a pose of poise. “Come in.” A lean young messenger cracked the door, dipping his head in a bow. “Lady Whitespire? I’m afraid to inform you that your friends have...ended Magistrix Leywhisper.” She inhaled sharply, eyes widening. “What?!”

The messenger cleared his throat. “Indeed. The matter they sought to resolve apparently came to blows. The Magistrix is well known for her quick temper and wayward plotting, and thus your friends were allowed to leave. Even still, I fear that should they try to return, they will face tribunal for their hostile actions. Except for perhaps the Highborne, but....” Mind racing, Shy’s eyes followed suit, darting around his face and the room itself as she tried to make sense of the situation. The cadre had only come here to ask questions, she’d thought. Why oh why would they do this!? All but declare war upon an ancient stronghold of her - and Dusksong’s - kind? Nothing was making sense now. Placing a splayed palm over her chest, she imaged a fleeting scene of Telrien growing angry and shifting into his Direbear form. Her heart sped up and she sought to steady her breathing. “Th-thank you. Were there injuries?” He hesitated, but as she focused that icy-silver gaze upon him, he swallowed and stepped into her room, lowering his voice as he continued. “As you wish, m’lady Whitespire. Reports are sparse as the hall was fairly barren of staff at the time, and those few nearby generally refrained from becoming involved.” Wringing his hands a bit, he averted his eyes and peered at the ceiling, the youthful enthusiasm of being the presence of a noble lady lending him unnecessary candor. “If you ask me, many had reasons or wishes for her to...be gone. So your friends did us a favor, really.” She waited expectantly, and he looked back to her, blinking. “Ah yes. In the end, it appears there were some wounds.” In response her expression, he quickly added, “Though none mortally, I assure you. They did not linger long, and did not ask for aid.” Acknowledging his improper mannerisms, he cleared his throat and laced his fingers loosely before his torso. “Oh, and also madam, I am to inform you that...the Archmage is here, and he has ordered that...well, m’lady, unlike your friends, I’m afraid that if you wished to, you cannot leave just yet.” A shiver ran down her spine. With a sigh, Shy nodded, her face canting down toward the floor in defeat as she rested pale fingertips upon the book’s cover. She knew he meant it. She could certainly try to leave, but with the upper echelon focused upon her, the tunnel she took would now lead to nowhere. Better to remain and see what they wanted of her. Besides, she certainly didn’t wish to lend any more credence to the Collective’s bad behavior by sneaking in and trying to sneak back out following such an unfortunate turn of events. As long as none of them were seriously hurt...she should just stay, and try to make amends. Yes, that would do. Peering at him once more, she murmured. “Alright. Thank you…?” At her quizzical look, the messenger nodded and bowed with a flourish. “Elevel, my lady, at your service.” With that he took his leave, shutting the door quietly behind him. The Archmage. He could have meant Estulan; but then, that archmage was mononymous, just going by his given name. No...Elevel surely meant Lord Evenshade. He was here. And wished to speak...to her? Oh dear. A thought occurred to her. Hurriedly reaching up, she grabbed at her communication devices: one for the Collective at large, and the other between her and Rainwhisper privately. The delicate wonders of strange technology appeared merely as small silver pendants, slung around her neck on thin chain. However, as she touched them, she had a fleeting memory of Lord Starsong’s eyes lingering upon them as they spoke and he held her hand, the whisper of a possible incantation crossing his lips. With another sigh, she pressed down upon them and got what she expected: nothing but static.

[shylmenra]

Return to Eldre’thalas

Hurriedly, Shylmenra was led away from her companions as they faced the Magistrix Lyrenna Leywhisper. Through a labyrinth of stone hallways the two Elves disappeared, around corners and up and down staircases. Finally, they stopped in a medium-sized round room, full to the brim from floor to ceiling with curved shelves of books. Only then did the elder male Highborne release his deceptively strong hold upon Shy’s wrist, ushering her to sit down upon a soft chaise. The younger arcanist did as she was bid and peered around the room, taking stock of where she was.

They were now deep in the interior of the intact section of Eldre’thalas, in one of the auxiliary libraries. Shy recognized the room, having spent time here. The ancient city was eminently larger than outsiders realized, and the Highborne, though vastly thinner in number, still lived and moved throughout the habitable sections. Some areas were said to be haunted, though perhaps that was just rumor; and others were legitimately full of foul-tempered, dim-witted ogres. It was often questioned why the Highborne suffered the actions of the squatting ogre usurpers who had taken over what the rest of the world now called “Dire Maul”. Truth be told, the ogres served unwittingly well in keeping simple looters and the ignorantly curious away. It was almost ingenious that the ogres were utilized as some sort of fleshy moat, or watchdogs; perhaps so, if they weren’t unpredictable and dangerous. Over the years, some of them had gotten their hands on relics and even learned to use reckless magic. Hence, entrances and exits from the city were a complex matter. Turning toward Shy, the fellow Highborne’s silvery eyes flickered over her face rapidly, his expression shifting with a thousand thoughts. He huffed and shook his head ever so slightly as his braid, a pale ombre shifting from violet at the tips to crisp white at his crown, undulated to follow in his wake. “Welcome. I recall you well, of course my lady,” he clipped in crisp ancient Thalassian, “but in case you do not recall me, I am Lord Starsong.” With a flourish of a bow, he smoothed his robes and quickly continued, his tone more plaintive by the second. “My dear Lady Whitespire, whatever were you thinking? Skulking in without notice, without the proper ceremony, and with such troublemaking rabble?” His tone was pleasant enough until the last word, upon which his lip twisted as though tasting something sour. Perplexed, she blinked a few times as she took in and sifted through the presented information. Starsong. Ceremony. Rabble? She quickly realized he meant Rainwhisper, Sylvansong, Dusksong, and Shattercog. Answering in kind with the Shen’dralari dialect, she retorted softly, dipping her head in a gesture of respect. “My apologies Lord Starsong, but if I may speak plainly, I care not for the ceremony. My compatriots were here for a distinct and secret purpose, and I thought to watch over them.” Hesitating slightly, she added the last with a tone so quiet it was nearly just breath. “We both know what can happen to unwelcome intruders.” Lord Starsong’s eyes widened slightly as she spoke, and he blew out a measured exhale before replying. “May I remind you Lady Whitespire, there have been a great many visitors over the years who have wandered our halls unannounced, who have left un-hassled and untouched. That they found naught what they were looking for is not our concern. What also was not your concern, was your friends arrival. The guards should have been informed. We have protocols, and for good reason. With all due respect, you are a lady, not a bodyguard.” He shook his head and took the liberty of taking a seat next to her, grabbing her hand and leaning in slightly as he further spoke, lowering his tone conspiratorially. “Even now, they quarrel with one of our own. I have no love lost for Magistrix Leywhisper, but had I left you there in the vicinity, you would be implicated in the situation along with them, and that cannot happen.” Shy nodded absently, her eyes lidded. It made logical sense, of course. She was still attempting to place his face and name within the recesses of her memory as she responded, her confusion and concern overshadowing the sting of his words. “What will happen to them?” Absently he stroked her wrist, soothing away the tender echo of his worried squeezing from their rapid sojourn moments earlier. “Well,” he half-smiled amiably, “I suppose that depends on the outcome of this situation. Hopefully they will resolve their problem quietly and expeditiously and they will soon leave. You know as well as I, that the Athenaeum is to be kept quiet and orderly.”

[shylmenra]

A message arrives by courier for Telrien Rainwhisper, the next time he is in Feathermoon Stronghold. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Telrien, I know it has not been very long since my way parted with the Collective’s on that fateful day in Eldre’thalas, so I hope you have not been wracked with undue concern. Reaching out has been difficult; but finally I have been able to send you this missive. I understand you were injured in that most unfortunate fight with Lyrenna Leywhisper, but not terribly so; of that I have been assured. It pained me to be torn from you all, but I must seek out the secrets of my past here. It is time; I oft thought of returning, but could not work up the courage. And so, it has been foisted upon me by fate, and I would not back down this time. The Archmage has things to say to me, and I intend upon listening, as terrifying as that prospect is without safe harbor to run to if it becomes too intense. I miss the picturesque balcony of the Feathermoon Inn, or the quiet of the high terrace of the Feathermoon library, where the moon is so white and full. But I will, as always, strive to make you and the Collective proud. Make no mistake, I represent myself here, not the Collective; I would not seek to drag you all through whatever machinations the Highborne may have; though you are always in the back of my mind. I am well aware my people are insular and their aims are their own. They have expressed mixed feelings on the passing of Magistrix Leywhisper, a strange turn of events indeed. There are many secrets here, layers and layers of them; and I intend on rooting out what I can. My family is oft spoken of here; I had nearly forgotten the importance of the Whitespire line. High time I represent them and face whatever truths I should. I hope that you all are well...that you are well, and healed, and touching green earth and feeling the whisper of rain upon your face. My com no longer functions, but know that I think of you. I have no idea as to when I might depart this place, but do try to visit sometime? I’m sure I could arrange something... With love, Shy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ((Note: Shy is unaware of the [my headcanon] temporal disparity of Eldre'thalas's interior vs the rest of the world.))

[agameoftangledwebs-blog]

#10 A First Gift

In the span of how the Kaldorei judge time Elru wasn't likely to find her reintroduction to Highborne Society to be a slow one. As soon as she was awake next she'd be confronted with books and attending Saeros on what he'd blithely describe as his 'rounds'. Magic was a rather valuable resource and when possible things were done by hand rather than magic alone which put the pair from one side of Eldre'Thalas to the other over hours of constant walking. The empty city was a warren of halls and corridors and hidden places that would be far too easy to get lost in--proven as they came across the errant corpse of an Ogre or Satyrs who had moved in to the more open areas and thusly gotten lost--but Saeros seemed to know them all.      For the most part it seemed to be a gathering of information, thick letters being exchanged between Saeros and the various singles and couples that they visited, but other times it was subtle intimidation. He'd mentioned once before how his current purpose was to be a tool and by the shocked faces and the odd comments of welcoming him back to Eldre'Thalas from abroad punctuated how formal all of this conversation seemed to be. Its clear among the eldest Highborne there were no 'friends'.      This pattern went on for several days until Saeros finally relents and brings Elru to a small library she'd never been to before but passed through several times on their walks. The most noticeable nature of the room was the scent of new paper and freshly dried ink that followed after them like clawing fingers, beckoning them to stay when they'd only gone on before. He takes a sudden stop in the middle of the room, surveying the spines of its contents lining the walls with a casual scan before looking to Elru. "This is some of Eldre'Thalas's newest acquisitions from across-" He pauses for a moment to recall the foreign word before translating it twice into Darnassian for her benefit, "-Azeroth. That first shelf contains all you will need to begin studying the Common language. Questions?"

"No questions. I will absorb all these immediately." Her response is prompt, but not for lack of small amount of awe and wonder as she idly brushes her fingertips across pages and edges of fresh printed paper and ink. It would be obvious to Saeros, but to the casual observer she'd be impassive as she always has been on each of Saeros' rounds that he took her on. Her robe is a practical one, with a touch of aesthetic that seemed to be a requirement of Highborne fashion. She has two new additions to herself whenever she heads out. A large journal book she clutches to herself and every so often opens to scribble notes in, and a sort of... thick ridged short cape of thick paper from her room that hangs from her neck by strings of twine. "Azeroth." She practices the word itself as well. "I will remain within the vicinity until you return, barring unwelcome circumstance."

"See that you do." He leaves without further detail or explanation.

And so Elru would collect a few books, find herself a corner in the library with her back to the corner, sit there, and begin reading. Looking carefully behind and around her as she settles she allows herself a moment to relax, though not entirely. A hum of magic persists around her, as it often does now whenever Elru leaves her suite.

For the most part this was a quiet library, even among the Highborne, though strange considering how valuable fresh information must be. Elru's allowed a few hours of peace before the murmuring of low voices echoes down the hall. Its clear the voices are young and male before the come around the corner into the library. They seemed to be around Elru's own age, though looks are often deceiving among Kaldorei, and modestly dressed even among Highborne. The next interesting fact was that they looked to be identical twins. If one had to guess they were likely pages of some sort, going about doing the bidding of whoever was over them. The one closest to Elru notices her first and elbows his brother before coming closer. "Who are you?" The lagging twin demands, already growing irritated in both tone and posture.

Elru lifts her eyes from her pages and just stares at the two blankly for a moment before she responds aloud, matching the volume though not the tone of the male. "Pardon me, but who is asking?" She glances behind the twins before refocusing back at the two. Her large journal book is being used as a lap-rest for her current book on Common.

"The apprentices of Lord Wintercrest--whose library you're sitting in." His voice had turned sharper while the other pipes in after with an almost beseeching lilt, "You'd best leave. Thieving books can get you sent to the pylons." The pair comes to a stop maybe five yards from her. A proper distance between casters.

She stares at them blankly again, then slowly, deliberately, lowers her eyes back to her book. "I am not thieving. I am sitting here reading. I am here to do so by the bidding of Saeros Kir-Moldir, whose authority I recognize over that of your Lord Wintercrest. If you or your Lord truly take issue with my presence then take it up with Kir-Moldir."

She'd feel and hear him get close before he actually does, further given away by the brother's anxious, "Jalus-" Before Elru would likely have to do -something- to keep hold of her book. Otherwise, it's being taken right out of her hands. "I think you need a lesson in recognizing your betters. It wasn't a request. Get lost."

The book would indeed leave her grip but for only a moment, but mid-withdrawal from her grip her hands shoot out and take firm grip of the tome, eyes wide and staring hard at the man as if he had committed a mortal offense in taking her reading from her. The bags from her time of isolation have not completely gone away. The hum of magic around her becomes more erratic and sharp, like a disturbed nest of bees. Quietly and slowly she speaks, "If you want me to leave, get your Lord. Now let go of my reading."

While the Highborne were the epitome of Arcane breeding they're still not so far from other more.. uncultured Kaldorei. They can sense blood in the water perhaps far faster than any animal. They needed to to be able to survive among their peers. The young man on the other end of her book gives her a smile that in a few centuries would have a cutting edge of cruelty attached to it. "While you run? I don't think so. Nasris and I should educate you while you're here like good hosts. Won't we?" Despite the fact that the more reserved of the twins, Nasris, had hung back thus far there was no sympathy in his face. More wariness, eagerness even.

Unblinking she stares right back as she slowly stands up from her corner seating, hands still on her side of the book as she lets her journal book fall to the floor to lay open to blank pages, pages that don't quite sit still. Any blank sheaves of paper or unenchanted book pages in the immediate vicinity will also rustle and refuse to sit still. Such a smile and threat from the elf may have unnerved her once, but she's been on the receiving end of looks much more menacing and cruel, followed by threats that actually were carried out. Maintaining that unblinking stare an odd sound not unlike shears begins subtly ringing in the ears of the men, men she eyes with a distant intensity as if they were merely something to be studied.

They were still Magi at their cores and as the book drops both men draw back for space, leaving her with her book but with their arms out and at the ready for casting. "Don't even think about it." Nasris warns while Jalus picks up the thought, as twins do. "There's two of us and one of you."

She cocks her head slightly to the side as she eyes them, as if suddenly them speaking, drawing back for room and casting their arms out were some of the most peculiar things she's seen. Still holding the book, though now by its closed spine as it hangs at her side. "Two of you? Don't speak such nonsense out of those shoddily folded creases you call lips. One, two or twelve, it's all the same thing to me." She takes one slow stride forward, if only to set the book down on the nearest end table, stepping over her restless large journal book on the way. Her hands are at her sides, but that magical hum around her is almost distracting as she takes a second stride forward closer to the two.

And just like that Jalus flings out a hand for a blast of Arcane while his twin channels another Arcane spell,  one of the classic projectiles. Both are obviously aimed for her.

Elru simply... takes the attacks with gasps and grunts, jerking almost rag-doll like at the two impacts, nearly losing her balance. The arcane blast catches her in the chest and jaw jerking her upper body back while the following projectile lands heavily in her gut immediately doubling her back over. Robes ruined in those places, and now bleeding from the gut, neck and chin, she stares at the two with open naked perplexion. Not pain, shock, fear or anger, just simple mildly perplexed surprise as she stands there.

The brothers grin in unison before casting as one. The tones of the spell might ring a few bells for Elru, this one had to do with time, particularly the stopping of it. For her.

The moment of curious surprise is over for her as her open confusion becomes an expression that's nothing but empty and cold as she audibly mutters and mimics word for word the channeling spell the brothers are performing, indicating her own strong grasp on the magic of time. No spell is forthcoming, though. A third stride forward and the next thing the brothers notice is multiple snap and creak noises as multi-jointed multi-fingered paper limbs immediately go for their necks, clamping around them like pincers should they unwisely choose not to move.

Their spell is cut short as they both jerk backwards, gaining more distance from Elru's artificial limbs and yet the more brash brother is caught up but the pincers, having thrown up his arm into it. Within the next moment he attempts to light it. Its only paper after all.

That limb squeezes with far more strength than paper should be allowed, bruising to the bone, but it does light on fire, forcing its withdrawal. As parts of it crumble off with its burning components it merely unfolds and refolds into its former shape like regenerative origami, her other two arms stretching and elongating by the joints as they fill her side of the room, fingers snipping together with audible shearing sounds. And yet she pays attention to nothing her arms are doing. Hands planting on her bleeding face and the wound over her gut she grips, squeezes, and with the sharp sound of tearing paper and peeling tape tears apart and discards a layer of herself onto the floor, revealing an unharmed and predatory Elru underneath as she stalks forward two more strides, artificial arms reaching. "Oxygen, one hundred seventy two kilograms. Carbon, sixty four kilograms. Hydrogen, twenty eight kilograms. Nitrogen, seven point two kilograms. Calcium, four kilograms. Phosphorus, three point one two kilograms. Potassium, point five six kilograms. Sulfur..." The physical elemental composition of the male elven body by component. Times two.

Jalus straightens, cradling his wounded arm with his better and looking to Nasris. Although he was the more brash of the twins he clearly relied upon his brother's more level stability. He instructs him immediately. "Go get Wintercrest." And so it was that Nasris stays while his brother blinks away back the way they'd come almost instantly. Now that they're alone Nasris was only concerned with keeping a safe distance.

Safe distance that Elru wasn't going to allow him. She didn't run, but she didn't take it easy, continuing her strides forward that get incrementally quicker, artificial arms pushing and clamping and grasping at the environment as if to help her along. Elru herself keeps her eye contact on the one remaining brother, real arms at her sides still as she continues to mutter off elemental components till she finishes. "That is all you are made of, little ANT." Her arms will jerk forward, not aiming at him, but attempting to block his escape, crossing his paths, snicking at his boots. "Gas and DIRT."

"Shut up!" It was a risk he took in such a priceless room but when life and limb are on the line there's little reason to back it. A wave of uncontrolled fire washes up before him with a gesture, entirely lacking the finesse of his Arcane mastery, as he aims to consume whatever gets too close to him.

Elru doesn't rush headlong into the wave of fire but neither does she slow down. One of her artificial arms, singeing at the edges, takes grasp of a sturdy end table or small shelf and throws it bodily in front of her at the source of the flame, following the minor respite the gap brings as she continues to stalk forward, artificial arms crumbling away.

Her table would soon find itself shattered by a more precise strike of Arcane. "What do you hope to accomplish here aside from embarrassment?" He spits out with all the loathing someone of higher breeding could fit into their words.

Her reply was an almost innocent one as she raises one of her real hands to about waist level as she brings a countering chill to the heat around her, still stepping closer to the man. "I have nothing to be embarrassed about. All I wanted to do was read. Then in came a pair of paper pests who felt the need to peacock."

Now that they were closer to the middle of the room the twin creates and sends off in the same word-gesture a ball of twisting, writhing Arcane straight for her. "You'll be sacrificed alone on how much magic you've -wasted- here today!"

Elru Blinks forward bringing her almost behind and to the side of the twin, staring sideways at him as she clasps her hands behind her, her arms reforming and folding back into existence out of her back folded up like a giant curled up insect. "This from -you-," as she pointedly eyes the lingering bits of singe here and there in the room. She'd manage to get that in before that ball of arcane impacted on something that wasn't on her.

Just before the ball hits Nasris makes a desperate gesture, redirecting the spell and dragging it into the floor and not into the bookcase it'd been so close to destroying. He whirls on her with a snarl, teeth bared, when another voice breaks in. "That is -quite- enough." Elru could keenly feel any active arcane she held being dragged down into various cardinal points in the room, preventing any more spell-casting, or paper-arm bending from continuing on. Jalus stood in the doorway just off to one side of a truly -old- Highborne. Not only was his hair white from age but face lined heavily and sagging from the years pressed upon him, blurring his eyes with a thin layer of white haze. Despite the obvious physical imperfections those silver eyes were set on Elru as he challenges her, "Who are you and why are you here?"

She turns her head to better eye the Highborne with half-lidden baggy eyes on such a youthful face, her feet and body following as she turns to face him full bodily, hands still clasped behind her back where her artificial arms remain folded up. "Elru Relgim, future Elru Kir-Moldir. I was assigned by Saeros Kir-Moldir to read up on newly printed texts on language when these... two," she glances at the twins each before looking back at the aging Highborne, "saw fit to assault me."

The pause between when she finishes speaking and when the old man gives some sort of acknowledgement that he'd heard her could easily lead one to believe he was hard of hearing or a little slow in the head. "Hmn." He grunts. "Kir'Moldir's you say. He would leave you in the middle of my treasury with no thought to the outcome. Come here, girl." He holds out a weathered hand. "Let me get a proper look at you."

The narrowing of her eyes made clear her distrust of his intent but she obeyed, albeit reluctantly, as she made slow strides towards him till she was within his reach, tense all the while. She didn't shy though. If anything, she lifted her chin to make her features more clear to him.

He doesn't peer at her but waves his loose, bony hand over her outline. He was frail physically but its clearly not the case when it comes to magic. There was a depth to the power that brushed against her own that seemed even more vast than anything she'd come to know before. There was great potential for harm from this man and yet all he did was rifle through her 'pages' of her own personal power on a respectably topical level. Even so, it makes the tear in her twitch in brief response. "More final than any ceremony before Elune." He comments with a dry humor as the hand falls. His near-sighted attention focuses on Jalus and Nasris with a directional jerk of his head. "Go stand out of the way over there. The Fang will be joining us promptly." They follow his instructions obediently and with obvious sulking dread.

In the middle of his instruction to the twins she turns her head and a foot back down the way she had come earlier. "I am to return to my assignment now, please."

He continues to eye her with some amusement at least as well as he was able to in her general direction. "Kir-Moldir can understand a delay in obedience if its for a good cause. Such as now."

She seems to assent to this as she doesn't move, turning her face and foot back to face the elder, but clinically replies, "With all due respect, my Lord, only Kir-Moldir can say what Kir-Moldir understands or allows."

"Does a Master entirely forget a Student across the eons?" He politely counters.

A slight lift of her brow indicating surprise at this new knowledge, followed by a pause and ending with, "Only so long as a student remains, in fact, a student."

"Take a moment to consider the how and why you have turned up in my private library today out of all Eldre'Thalas." He suggests while hunching forward, hands laced at his back as he too, waited.

She does so, keeping her stance and hands clasped as she has been, facing the elder as she waited patiently with an impassive face.

Thankfully for them all, they wouldn't have to wait long, as Saeros comes up from the opposite hallway where he'd disappeared down earlier. Although he must have been interrupted there was no air of terse patience about him. Business as usual. "Wintercrest." He gives in a way that contained both a question and a greeting. The elder nods in his direction before speaking, "I found something of yours hidden away in my library with more teeth than my apprentices were expecting to meet." Saeros was already inspecting the room's damage as well as the twins while the old man spoke and when he stops he picks up. "I'd left her here to study what you had on Common." "Without my knowledge." "Yes." Wintercrest shifts in place. "There's a matter to be settled seeing as yours attacked mine first." "As yours instigated." Listening the the back and forth between them had an odd.. cadence. As if there was far more being said here than what was verbalized aloud. Not to mention that Saeros had no business knowing what had happened in his absence. Things clearly aren't adding up.

If this disjointed imbalance of words bothered Elru she didn't show it, but she certainly was listening with intent, making a note of the pauses, shifts and tones when she could. She paid no mind to the room or the two apprentices, only on the Lord and Saeros.

"Seeing as they both made their own advances I see no reason as to why you shouldn't be allowed to chose." That comment had the twins all too stiff, both staring hard at the floor just before them. Saeros looks to Elru directly then, nodding her over towards the twins. "Who offends you the most?"

Elru doesn't move or look anywhere in particular for a moment before responding, "It hardly matters. They both look the same to me." She levels a half-lidden look at the twins. "... If admissible I want to see them decide who gets chosen. Who they settle on will determine who offends me the most."

While this cases the twins to stiffen even more Saeros simply levels Elru with a flat stare. He repeats only one word. "Choose."

Elru gives a settling nod at that and looks right at the brash one who got all up in her face.

"Jalus. Go with Kir-Moldir." Wintercrest instructs, spurring Nasris to blurt out. "Is he coming back alive?" Saeros answers with a shrug which the elder interprets aloud. "That depends entirely on Jalus." It would be hard to watch, if anyone who had a heart was still in the room to see how leaden Jalus's feet moved to comply with the command as he fell in line a short distance away from Saeros who addresses Elru then as well. "Your current studies are on hold. You'll return when proper. Come along--both of you." Saeros leads the way forward, back into the warren of Eldre'Thalas with Jalus dragging along behind him while both Nasris and Wintercrest watch on in silence.

Elru follows on command falling in step behind Saeros at an appropriate distance not looking at Jalus.

And so they go back the way they came, deeper into the older sections of Eldre'Thalas where Elru's room was kept with their mightily reluctant detainee trailing behind but not daring to stray. They get -rather- close to Elru's own room in fact before Saeros stops them two doors short, opening the heavy stone door with a touch. The area within is.. sadly lacking and dusty from disuse and contained no furniture of any kind. What it did contain were fresh runes Elru could sense along the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. After everyone filed in the door closes once more to seal them within and only mage-light illuminated the room with white light. "I suppose this will do." Saeros idly murmurs before turning back to Elru and Jalus who hugged a little too tightly to the door. For the latter Saeros waved a gestured hand before beginning, "He won't hear us for the moment." The slightest pause for emphasis, "He is my first gift to you."

It took Elru a second to register that they wouldn't be heard by Jalus, and it took another second to register the idea that she was being given a gift, and it throws her off. Blinking rapidly at Saeros she glances over at the other and speaks back at Saeros. "Please, elaborate."

He watches her placidly, "Its exactly as it sounds. You're free to do with him as you will--as long as it excludes a sexual capacity."

Elru glances at Jalus again with pursed lips, brow furrowing. "Free to do with as I will... for how long?"

"As long as he lasts."

Elru's feelings and expressions seem rather mixed and myriad. This was new and almost frightening to her. Still, thoughts and possibilities flashed through her mind as she stares. "... I'll need a little time to prepare."

"You've had plenty of time to prepare for whatever I've had next for you. In fact, I've been rather generous in allowing you these few days to think and operate on your own without demands from me. Now is the time to act even if you are not prepared." The words are given passively and without reproach. It was a simple statement of fact, after all.

Elru looks at Saeros for a moment as if wondering if he were going to remain, before looking back at Jalus and letting her arms at her back unfold, limbs and digits flexing. Her real palms spread and point flat at the ground as she adds her own additional runes to the room, creeping outward from her feet. Swiftly following those runes are sheets and sheets of paper.

Saeros takes this as his cue to edge over towards one wall. A brief tug has him conjuring a simple three-legged stool which he sits on and using the stone behind to lean against. Jalus was quickly glancing between Saeros and Elru at that point and overly mindful of the former's presence as he keeps himself so close to the wall that he might as well be a fixture. There was a corner furthest away from both of them that he starts to shuffle towards.

Elru watches Jalus impassively as she backs up towards her own wall as paper steadily coats every inch of the interior, briefly and only slightly unsettling the stool Saeros sits on, and the feet Jalus stands on. Paradoxically the room remains lit despite the coating, and as the paper finally finishes coating the room Elru presses back against the wall as she seems to meld right into the paper, disappearing from sight.

Despite the obvious threat that Saeros presents in the room Jalus wasn't so afraid of his situation that he wouldn't resist. It wasn't an outward attack so much as protecting his little corner of the room with a wave of fire cast down from his hand around his feet. It singes his robes but fashion was of little consequence when charring up all the paper nearest him was the goal.

Jalus accomplishes setting his immediate area on fire, charring up the place and likely making flames lick at his robes and feet. This effort does not seem to reveal the room proper, and once those flames spread and die down after spreading to a quarter of the room there's a rustling and a flipping of pages as the charred parts are tugged out of sight and fresh paper is laid around Jalus.

As new paper is laid out Jalus reels back into his corner with more fire pouring out around him with a reckless, wide-eyed abandon. He had no idea what awaited him but the only thing he could fight at that moment--and live--was the paper trying to surround him. The longer this process of charring and replacement went on the more fire would lick at the floors and walls. It wasn't a very big room but as more and more fire is used the air starts to grow thin, straining whatever maintenance runes that kept airflow passing in and out of the basically sealed chamber.

Air remains thin, but it doesn't dip down too far below the lethal threshold. Even so, Jalus is welcome to keep burning as he likes, though it will push him to the point of fainting and choking as he starts to see less of the room and more of his smoke and flames. In fact obfuscation of the room seems to be the point as Elru does nothing to make the smoke go away. In this room, suffocation and obfuscation wouldn't be an issue for Saeros. With Jalus' panic and loss of air he probably wouldn't notice Elru delicately making the smoke her own.

People rarely make smart choices when faced with worse fates and the fire continues to spread and grow to the point where not just the paper was on fire but Jalus's robes as well. He was too panicked to realize that he was soon about to go up in flames himself and unless something intervened Elru was about to lose her first 'gift'.

Before Jalus burns up entirely the smoke, ash and flames disperse entirely to nothing revealing an accurate facsimile of her room a couple doors over. Her craft has improved incredibly as it's almost indistinguishable from a real suite. It's simpler, however, as there is simply a couch a little off center in the room. Air should be returning to Jalus' lungs and he'll find himself shuffled towards the center of the room from where he was before. Each wall is identical with its expensive wallpaper. Elru sits lounging in the chair watching Jalus impassively in a clean simple robe, contrasting with Jalus' near nonexistent robes.

While still on fire--Jalus just aims even more flames directly at Elru and the paper surrounding him, refusing to be moved while he had the ability to fight back with a rather effective weapon.

Elru flicks a hand sharply outward at the room as the room itself seems to immediately cave in on Jalus, practically flying as his casting hand, his entirely body is immediately smothered by layers upon layers of paper, too many to burn through at once before he's smothered entirely in an airtight coffin suspended before Elru's seated form.

She'd feel those first layers crisp up within before the fire abruptly chokes itself out and likely the young man within along with it if she left him without air too long. The fire was out--but something needed to be done about the casting part if this process wasn't just about to repeat itself all over again.

Elru furrows her brow with a note of irritation as she raises her hands and takes more active direction in her paper-craft, the layers upon layers of paper withdrawing back to where they had been drawn from. As Elru's fingers work with visible magic to her fingertips Jalus is revealed, but this time chained to the ceiling and shackled at the wrists, with his hands coated still. The shackles and gloves are inscribed, glow slightly and have a chill about them. Elru huffs slightly as if annoyed at the extra work she's putting in. "Your fire is a nuisance."

Jalus is promptly struggling in his bonds like any properly hooked fish as he literally spits fire up at the chains holding his hands above his head with little effect. He could do little else but respond with the absolute venom he felt, "And you're nothing but a puppet dancing on the strings of another marionette." Fear and hate make one say the most dangerous things. Saeros himself was unmoved by the accusation, clearly a pure spectator. "Training to become a new perfect little tool?"

"So what if I'm a tool? We're all tools here." The inscriptions and chill on the chains and shackles become less pronounced but still evident and present as the effect seems to spread out evenly from Jalus to the rest of the room. "Particularly weak tools, even, if you think about it. We need to still be alive to be tools, after all, and I don't want you dead. Not yet anyway."

"What's the point?" He demands. "What's the point of dragging this out? Eager to put on a good show for a pat on the head afterwards?"

"No. If I had my way I would have torn you in half at the library, but now that you're here I want to test your limits. And mine." His chains will slacken enough for him to stand and move a few paces, and his hands will even be free, but he will remain shackled for the time being. Arms unfold from the back wall to flex and extend forward on either side of Elru. One thin bony hand carries a trio of syringes. The other carries a set of blades. "Either I test some drugs on you, or you can keep trying to fight your way out of here." She folds her hands in her lap. "Or I can just kill you."

He draws his head up proudly, "Or I can kill myself and deny you the pleasure."

Elru actually smiles at that, and abruptly his shackles release him. At the same time several more arms unfold from the room walls as they reach for him, aiming to grip his wrists, elbows,  knees, ankles, and head. They're quick and persistent things, and there's little doubt that Jalus will manage to inflict some self harm if he truly desired to, but ultimately it'll be clear that the arms work to restrain and suspend him entirely.

There's more fire this time but not enough before he's subdued--the Highborne craft was focused upon Arcane and skill in the other schools wasn't something of a priority. He'd likely have a flame or two licking up the charred remains of his robes that would need putting out.

A paper arm would deftly scuff and pat away the fire on his robes as if doing him a friendly favor. Not nearly as much damage is done to the paper as by now it seems to have adapted to outright fire. The arms will stretch his arms and legs wide and in opposite directions, splaying him like one giant bug as he's tugged painfully. In fact he's probably meant to be tugged like a bug as Elru seems to be paying particularly rapt attention to this part of her playtime with the apprentice.

His discomfort was plain on his face but that doesn't entirely stop that persistent air of stubborn pride. He even goes so far as to clench his jaw stubbornly shut, denying her his speech.

She'll continue to stretch him out painfully, to the point of popping joints out of sockets if it gets that far. She leans forward in her seat watching this, the ways his muscles tense, how tight his jaw clenches, and in anticipation for... something. it's unclear what, but it could be just as simple as a cry of pain.

Jalus's eyes progressively grow wider as he's very literally starting to be pulled apart. It's not until muscles and the tendons beneath stretch to tearing that he cries out, head shaking back and forth. "Stop! For Elune's sake, stop!"

That seemed to satisfy her mostly as the tugging eases up just slightly to stop the worst of the pain. he'll get only a moment of respite before he'll feel a syringe stick into his leg.

It's hard for him not to jerk at the sudden stick. His chest heaves with the half-panicked gasps he made for his breaths as he waited with agonizing dread of what would happen to him next.

If anything he'll feel better, almost refreshed but not quite, as his joints still ache like no other. He'll feel more hyper aware of his joint pain, as well as his physical and mental state in general. It'll hurt when he's abruptly dropped bodily on the ground. A creak, a breeze fanned on him, and if he looks at the source he'll see an open door, as well as dimly hear Elru's voice. "Better run along home before the effect finishes." Elru eyed the prone Jalus as he laid there for several long moments before speaking  aloud. "Better run along home before the effect finishes." A paper fan blows a breeze across at Jalus' form as the facsimile of an open door is etched on a wall.

As he's dropped Jalus freezes, gasping past the screaming nerves all alerting  him to the fact parts of him were damaged. Looking up towards the door Jalus crawls on all fours towards it with a limping stride, clearly hurt but the lure of freedom too great.

It'll become more clear to him that he's been drugged in some way as the crawl to the open door takes much more distance than it should, but slow steady progress does he make.      It's simple enough to shift and slide the paper ground underneath Jalus with a light twirl of her finger, making his crawl to the door crawling a slow one. Then the game becomes clear. An open door frame extends out from the door drawing, as other similar drawings are etched and formed at the sides to be used when ready. Turns. Hallways. Archways. Simple panoramas. A far, far more elaborate setup of a rat on a running wheel.

He crawls, and crawls, and crawls until he exhausts himself with chest rattling pants. Slumping to the group he lays relatively limp, curled inwards against the pulse and throb his joints flared with in time to the beat of his heart.

Elru does some work with her paper and crafts a giant dark colored spider above Jalus, bigger than he was. By the time it was complete she injects two more syringes in at once right on Jalus' other leg, shooting his adrenaline high and narrowing his perception. If he looks back at what stabbed him, he'll be greeted by clacking spider face.

Pain had a way of drawing someone's attention and his head whips around, craning back to see what had harmed him now. An undignified squeal bursts from him as he kicks, straining away from the 'spider' with a burst of focused Arcane directed at it. He doesn't look up, utterly focused on the one that had injured him, as his heart pounds erratically as it was fueled even further by fear.

To give him a touch of hope for the encounter Elru lets her spider take the hit, blowing off a pedipalp with an accompanying synthetic shriek as the spider rears back, then jabs forward with two legs as if to pin him, though Elru doesn't really try. She'll have the spider withdraw and dodge every other attack, but the point was not to win. The point was to watch the two dance. Elru's enjoying this part way too much, having a satisfied blissed expression not altogether different from when Saeros first happened upon Elru manipulating spiders and ants.

It was a plainly losing battle as Jalus was already exhausted both physically and magically at this point. His crawls become desperate lunges, flashes of Arcane become flickers--he even cries for help a couple of times, reaching out in odd ways that react with the wards in the room as if he were calling to another. Still he struggled, straining against his own limitations.

Elru would keep this up forcing Jalus to exhaust himself to collapse once again, patiently, happily even waiting it out. Once prone Jalus would find himself being wrapped up immobile full body by the war-torn spider in a silk that felt more like firm twine.

Which was accompanied by his weak cries. With so much running through his system he wasn't likely to notice the difference in texture. There was nothing left for him to do at this rate aside from give in.

Once wrapped, the spider would drag him, and the rat wheel runs in reverse as the progress he had seemingly made in his crawl to freedom is undone before his eyes till eventually he's brought back to the main door.

Where he lays trussed up as he was and limp as a boneless fish.

Elru stands and wanders over to stand almost but not quite above Jalus at this time to check on the elf for how aware or awake he was, simulating another breeze and creaking noise of door.

As she nears him his eyes weakly track her progress. He was there--although intensely dazed.

Elru huffs lightly down at him, and regardless of whether he'd remain fooled or not she still asks, "And just what are you doing back in this part of Eldre'thalas?"

He opens his mouth to respond but the only thing that comes out is a croak.

A light wave of a hand, keeping the man trussed up, she'd have him suspended in a corner upside down making the blood rush to his head. She'd dismiss the spider, which would fold back into the paper walls, and she would stare at the man a while. The exhaustion, and the relatively short lived drugs running their course, would no doubt knock him out sooner rather than later.

And it was so. With his face a bright purple Jalus is soon no longer conscious as exhaustion drags him under.

Elru would keep standing there, even as she withdrew and dismissed most of the paper except this corner, and seemingly forgot about Saeros being there until she replied aloud in an almost resigned tone, "I'm sick."

He answers her regardless, "Elaborate."

She hangs her head slightly not facing him. "Finding such satisfaction with such manipulation. Whether it is playing God with spiders and ants or playing God with a helpless elf the reaction is the same. Releasing of endorphin. Stress relief. Heightened breath and eye dilation. This is not how a normal elf is supposed to be." It was a candid confession lacking all dancing around the edges that was once her norm. She hugs herself slightly with a soft unhappy noise. "I always knew there was something... off. Different about my mind. Even though I barely spent time around other elves I could still notice it. All this, everything, just makes it more clear."

There's a pregnant pause that drags on before being abruptly broken with a low chuckle. It wasn't mocking but carried the pure tones of genuine humor. Should Elru turn to look Saeros's lips were quirked up into a depreciating smirk. "Take 'comfort' in the knowledge that this strangeness about yourself isn't so alien to those around you. It's not even uncommon."

She did indeed turn her head to see this and she's just plain frowning at him now, though she still carried hints of that morality-laced sadness to her features. "So what you mean to say is that in actuality I 'fit in' more than I was told I did?"

"Idril is -not- an appropriate representation of 'normal'." Was his first flat remark. "Look around you. Aside from her--how have you been treated? How do Highborne treat other Highborne? They're all spiders sitting in their carefully spun webs waiting for a hapless meal to lure in and when nothing is forthcoming.. trickery and deception. Cannibalism."

She flinches at the call out to Idril and her raising, but does not argue, the shift in her expression signifies her seeing truth in his words. "What a wretched way to live... How am I to survive in such a world for so long, let alone thrive?" It's a question she should have asked aloud sooner, but better late than never. "As capable as you are, Kir-Moldir, you're not always going to be there to prolong my life."

"A little slow, but correct. I cannot be there to hold your hand against every starving newcomer but I can equip you to handle as much as you are able and increase those chances. As I have been doing." He tacks on with pointed dryness.

She looks at him in long consideration of his words. "... How'd I do today?"

"In a word--ignorantly."

She turns to face him. "Elaborate, please. I want to do better."

Saeros draws in a slow breath that carried an air of patient suffering. "Do you recall your first choice today?"

"I remember where I chose to take my assigned reading, and how I, chose to react to the two apprentices." She frowns a little eyeing the floor as if just remembering the incident in its entirety and unpleasantly.

"Describe the personalities of both twins."

"One was brash, hot-headed, prideful, didn't think his actions through. The other was more withdrawn, collected, thoughtful, cautious."

"If I were to kill or otherwise irreparably harm Idril would I not gain your ire?"

"You would."

"Do you think the bond between twins would be even stronger, causing a more potent reaction?"

She purses her lips a bit. "You are right, it would be. Such would have been true regardless of which brother I chose, though."

"And still, you've made a choice in which enemy you preferred. Which of the two brothers do you believe would be the worst of the two to face?"

It dawns on Elru then as she gives a disappointed sigh. "If I had a clearer mind as I do now I'd have noticed sooner to be more wary of the cautious one. How foolish of me."

"If we could all have clear minds to make our judgments then people would be far more cunning than any of us could survive."

She looks back up at Saeros as she more quietly recounts, "Back at the library... When this one suddenly went aggressive on me, I forgot I was in the library. All I saw was paper."

You defended yourself." He confirms.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it, then nods. "I defended myself."

"You've something very few at your age have cultivated and survived. Its an additional aspect that can be used but when not--leashed. You'll find it very hard, if not impossible, to do away with entirely so I suggest you not make the attempt. It'll only handicap you further."

She looks almost uncomprehending at him though a part of her seems to, as she goes through a similar mixture of clashing emotions like she was wont to do back when Saeros returned to her life until her face settles on a kind of numbness. Absentmindedly she rests her hand on her cheek and jaw, and grips, and squeezes, and then tears off a layer of paper that comes off more wetly and sticky than before, tainted underneath with blood, before she sheds herself of it entirely. The wounds on her body, on her jaw, neck, chest and gut, have mostly healed by now but despite that she rubs and presses at an exposed cut on her chin. "It barely hurt, you know. Compared to our bond, this was nothing."

"Coincidence?"

"Confirmation. I can be wary of the world. But I have a little less reason to be afraid of it."

He raises a long eyebrow at her before he repeats himself with a little more added on, "Do you believe your higher threshold of pain to be a happy coincidence?"

"No. No, I don't. I should thank you, but I don't know if you'd accept thanks from me."

His next question might come out of left field for her. "How would you show your appreciation?" The tone and eye contact with the question were level.

She blinks once, peering at him. "I'd show it however you deem fit and in a way that pleases you, but..." At this point she's a little shy, but a more plain shyness of youth rather than a wariness of him. "I don't know what you like or derive pleasure from. Aside from your job as The Fang." Then a weak but still self-humoring chuckle. "And I somehow doubt you'd be impressed by any attempts of mine to try to mimic you."

"Do I want to be impressed?"

"Well I know you don't want to be bored."

He doesn't say anything but looks towards her with that expectant air he managed to convey when he wanted her to continue.

She wasn't expecting that, but she tries regardless. "You don't, expect to be impressed. Very little would impress you at this age. But you do have standards. Standards that are well above mediocrity, with no tolerance for anything lackluster. Any appreciation I show you you'd eye with the same judgement as you would any action I do as part of my growth. I think."

"Does this dissuade you?"

She shakes her head.

Instead of quirking up Saeros's lips gain this.. strange sort of half-smile if one could both frown and smile at the same time. "I suppose that's a fair enough answer."

She stares at him a moment before something seems to perk up within her as she straightens a bit. "May I attempt a small gesture of appreciation right now?"

His expression smooths back into a more normal layer of passivity in response. "Proceed."

For a moment she's immobile as if from nerves, but she approaches him without wariness or fear until she was right up in front of him, practically against him. If he would allow it she'd reach up to almost wrap her arms around his neck but it was less a hug and more a gesture meant to tilt his head down, though she'd lean up on toes if needed. After gazing at his features like this for a split second she'd close her eyes and press her lips to his slightly parted. It'd all be so completely ordinary and mundane if not for the fact that her tongue and the inside of her mouth was bloody. She'd bitten her tongue at some point without flinching before kissing him with an open mouth.

As was the way of anything Saeros had a hand in, it was entirely in the way he wanted it--or not at all. Either he recognized her intent or defended himself from it was difficult to discern at first. She'd intended to wrap her arms around him, that was true, but they certainly didn't end up there by the time she finished the gesture.      There was obvious pain to the suddenness in which both arms end up behind her, held tightly by the wrists and pulled up to the middle of her back where the joints in her shoulders would strain. If her intent was still on kissing him he met it with a casual sense of interest with eyes not closed but lowly lidded and focused upon her.      What he'd not expected was the taste of blood in her mouth, drawing a sharp inhale and the hand holding both wrists tightening to the point of nearly cutting off circulation. His tongue delicately sifts through her mouth to find exactly where she'd bitten herself with more interest than someone rightly should have in such a thing. After he had his 'answers' their kiss became something more heavy in the way his lips moved against her own and teased out responses with frustratingly slow strokes and brushes.

She gave a surprised grunt in pain as she tensed up at the sudden way her wrists were pinned behind her but she did not resist it, simply went with it as this was how Saeros willed it, and once Saeros began kissing heavily and in somewhat approaching earnestness she'd meet his lips and tongue with her own. She'd bitten through her tongue with a fang creating a rough cut, creating a steady bleed that she does not shy from, that she made for him. While she's no kisser, there's a willingness, perhaps even expectation to learn. The slow strokes and brushes do indeed cause a little frustration, as she furrows her brow and slips in gentle growls in between heated contacts of their lips. She even dips her tongue into his mouth in turn, staining the outside of his lips slightly with her own blood. It would almost be cute, as it was textbook Elru in how she'd respond negatively to teasing and how she'd refuse to fail at a task, even if that was kissing.

A pain she'd find steadily increasing as the contact drew on to reach a peak by the time she made her own advances on him. It wasn't entirely coincidence, rarely anything seemed to be with Saeros, that the muscles in her shoulders began to strain to the point of tearing and where the bone was in clear danger of being popped out of socket as he drew back. There was no smiling now nor words of praise but a sense of growing stillness she had a chance at shifting one way or the other in the silence it took to grow.

She's trembling slightly, from the heated contact and from the pain in her shoulders and arm sockets. Panting softly as sweat beads on her forehead she eyes his impassive silence with her own strain with her heavy lids, lips parted as she takes a moment to lick her own lips clean. She doesn't shy away or cringe from the pain. Rather she seems to deliberately hold herself at that strained peak where it hurts the most. It could be masochism, or it could be indecisiveness, but whereas Elru always shied away before, she refused to now. Maintaining eye contact all the while, with a slight whimper followed by a quiet gasp, she pushed. One arm out of her socket she was now closer to him. She breathed heavily on him, but there was no gritting of teeth, no tears.

Elru would find her arms released but.. very abruptly not where she expected herself to be. It had to be some trick of bent time--if not for the fact that her chest hurt so much as she lay on the floor nearly in the very middle of the room. The reality was that Saeros had pushed her, though pushing was a kind word for the strike of his palm to her chest, away from him to have her where she was now. Somewhere above her felt like ice that made the floor and her papers a warm comfort. "And we had just had this conversation." It was Saeros's voice but.. there was a 'more' to it.

She clutched at her chest, eyes clenched tight, breathing raggedly as she half curled up. "Wh-Which conversation..."

"About clear minds."

She pants, and heaves, then manages a self-depreciating chuckle as she rolls onto her back staring upward. "Yes.. So we did.."

There's a shuffling as Saeros makes his way over to her where he can stand above Elru with one long length of runed dagger in one hand. "Be wary in how far you take eagerness with me. I won't be played." Everything was still calm and casual aside from that odd note and the obvious threat of a weapon.

She eyes the dagger, then drags her eyes to meet his again, her breathe steadying, but just barely. "How am I supposed to respond to pain, big or small, Kir-Moldir?"

He gives a singular shake of his head to indicate she was on the wrong track. Instead he gives, "Offer. Never take."

A furrowing of her brow shows her struggle in understanding, though she tries. "Offer. Never take."

He simply looks at her before adding on with a slow drawl. "Yourself."

She stares at him a while longer, gulping, then gives a nod of affirmation. "Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, Kir-Moldir. I was a little too eager."

He gives her one last, lingering stare before moving on towards the door where it opens and closes behind him in a manner she'd be accustomed to. Seems she'd be staying with her 'toy' for now.

Elru will settle for napping on the floor for now.