#amonair

[grumpymage]

Hot damn! For Rythien. OR AMON. OR BOTH.

Ryth 0/10

So not his type, aesthetically speaking

That beard is a definite no

He’s loud and oftentimes seems irreverent

Okay and the whole Old God camped inside his head? Cie don’t need more of that. 

Also he really doesn’t want to know what else Ryth uses those tendrils for.

That family

Amon 9/10

Physically impressive. 

Definitely attractive

Not only a mage, but a battle mage, which means

Intellectual Discourse and Common Ground

That. Family.

[breathofanewday]

Hot damn! For Amonair.

8/10

too hot

hot damn

the shoulders, the arms, the tattoos.

+1 for mage here, too

but he’s besties with a high elf and that’s eeeeehhhhh

also he, too, lives way the fuck out in SMV

[breathofanewday]

★ Amonair

"That man's muscles are a gift from the titans, and nobody can ever tell me otherwise."

[grumpymage]

Correspondence - Amonair Dawnhallow

It was a hard letter to write. Cievian had gathered up the shards of his sword as best as he was able, but there were pieces missing. Even if they all had been recovered, it was unlikely that anybody would be able to put it back together.

The broken pieces of his sword sat in an ornately carved container on his desk, just to the left of the blotter. He glanced at it often as he wrote, looking quickly away each time as though the sight of it pained him.  And it did. The sword was a piece of him. Taldaerin hadn't understood. He'd tried, but. Cievian had had the blade for so long. Losing it felt like losing a piece of his soul, but he wasn't able to articulate that.

  Mr. Dawnhallow,

I believe we have met once before, at a party your cousin Rythien insisted I attend. You mentioned, at the time, your work as a blacksmith, and over the course of the evening, we spent some time discussing our careers as battle mages.

When my apprentice was looking for a mage smith to craft a pair of daggers for her, yours was one of the names I provided her with. I believe you ended up doing the work for her. I had the opportunity to study the blades, and I must say that I was quite impressed with the work you did. She mentioned, in passing, that you have several examples of your work at home. I would like an opportunity to look over them, if it would not be an imposition. At your leisure, of course.

I hope to hear from you soon.

-Cievian Var’Diel

Reading over the letter, Cievian couldn’t help but feel a little cowardly at his omission of why he wanted to look at Amonair’s work. He set the letter back down, reaching out to touch the case that held his sword with two fingers, frowning. After a moment, he shook his head and pulled his hand back, folding and addressing the letter carefully. He sealed it with a drop of crimson wax and the impression of his signet.

Rising, he added the letter to a small pile of other correspondence, gathered them all up, and carried them from the townhouse, locking both the door and the gates behind him. He detoured by a mailbox, depositing the missives into the dropbox on his way out of town.

[roguebyanyname]

Correspondence - Amonair Dawnhallow

Sai had almost forgotten that he was going to write Amonair in regards to the runes. It wasn’t until he was down in Pandaria, telling the story to Kriann, that he remembered the need. So the letter that eventually made its way to the battlemage was written on paper with stylized bamboo borders. Sai’s poor penmanship, though, remained unchanged.

Amonair

I talked to your cousin, the teacher one, not Ryth, Zeneran? I don’t have the spelling in front of me. I wrote to him about the exploding spell business like you told me to, and he suggested a change to the runes I have on my back, something about them only being enough to stabalize small spells, and not the release of large amounts of energy. So in good news, I’m not having spells blowing up in my face because I’m not good enough.

There’s a bit of a smudge, and the pen line streaks across the paper, tearing through it a little bit in one place, and the writing continues around the hole.

Anyways, your brother cousin said that he can draw them out, but he’s not a tattoo artist, so he can’t do the runes for me, and the person who did the runes I have now is a little bit dead, so I’m hoping that either you can do them, or you can tell me who can? Something tells me that if I went to the guy who did my phoenix, I’d just have some more pretty marks on my back.

-Sai.

And now for the big question: how long does it take for a letter to travel from Pandaria, to Shadowmoon Valley?

[roguebyanyname]

Correspondence - Amonair

It was quite some time between Sai meeting V and seeing the work Amonair had done - and remembering that he'd meant to write the man.

The only problem: He'd completely forgotten the man's name.

A quick message to Kri, who got in touch with V (after being bribed by the promise of cookies) netted him the name, and fnally (almost a week after he'd remembered to write the letter) he actually sat down to write it.

Mr. Dawn-- ,

The rest of the name is obscured by very large splash of ink, hastily blotted up, and slightly smeared. The letter continues below the stain.

Mr. Dawnhallow,

Apologies for the spot there. I have a surprising lack of parchment.

Some time ago, you made a pair of daggers for the friend of a friend of mine. I can't remember her name, she introduced herself as V. Blonde girl, pretty, lots of enthusiasm?

You made her a rather nice pair of daggers complete with runework. I'm wondering if you'd be willing to put runes on a pair of daggers I already own? What's the charge, and can I lower it with a bribe of baked goods?

-Saiel Valduren

Folding the letter up, he poured a glob of wax on the opening to seal it - dripping a couple of splashes of wax on accident and smearing them across the parchment in an attempt to wipe it up. Resigned to his fate of a messy letter and ink-smeared, wax-burned fingers, Sai tucked the letter into the pocket of his pants and pulled a parka on against the spring rain before heading out of his apartment and up the road to Fairbreeze Village.

He'd drop the letter in the mail, and pick up the supplies to make some cookies at the same time.

[grumpymage]

"What are you doing?"--from Amon

“Nothing!” Cievian tucks the book away quickly, clearing his throat. Hopefully Amonair hadn’t seen the cover. Or the title. The last thing he wanted was word getting out that he’d been reading a trashy romance novel.

Composed, he angles his head slightly, studying Amonair over the rim of his glasses. “Did you need something?”

[breathofanewday]

Apathy

I am not angry or sad or happy to see you. I could not give a shit. You don’t even ripple.

― Gillian Flynn, Dark Places

V wiped her palms on the legs of her pants, staring at the little house where Amonair Dawnhallow lived. Even if the High Elf is there, she told herself, just ignore him. He doesn’t exist. Just look at the drawings and then kindly ask Amonair to send you back to Silvermoon.

Pressing a hand to her aching head, she drew in a breath and hobbled the remaining few steps to the door, knocking lightly on it.

The High Elf wasn’t there.