The Hammerfall inn was particularly quiet during one starry night. With so many straying from Lionsbane's base in Arathi, the cots on the third floor of the inn remained untouched. And yet, the night was not entirely still.
Sardonix sat at one of the empty tables, quill in hand as a single candle lit the pages of his journal. The black haired sin'dorei sketched tirelessly on the parchment, inking the finishing touches. Placing the quill back in the inkwell, he paused as he gazed critically at his drawing. His eyes poured over each line, making sure the picture was a near perfect replica of his vision: the sun half obscured by a black circle.
Leaning back in his chair, he took pause to reach for a glass of red wine that had remained untouched until that moment. Sighing softly, he took a sip of wine only to return the glass to its original spot against the table. Attention returning to the quill, Sardonix retrieved the elegant feather, carefully dragging the tip against the side of the inkwell to remove the excess ink.
The hour drew on towards midnight as Sabrielle sat cross legged in front of the jimmied trunk, browsing through worn tomes and assorted pieces of paper. Despite her keen night vision there was more than enough light from the full sky for her to read, and her sister was ever the dutiful scribe. There was barely a omitted detail of her time stranded in Quel'thalas.
'She almost makes it too damn easy.' The rogue thought to herself, tearing out pages she wished to keep and folding them to tuck inside her leather vest. There was no room for the logic that if it was so easy, her last attempt would have been successful. Sabrielle made no mistakes - she simply experimented.
Yawning, she stood and tossed the books back in the trunk and latched it. Crossing the courtyard, her thoughts dispersed as she noticed the light from the inn. Curiosity instantly had the better of her, and with the knowledge that the 'major players' of Lionsbane were absent from Hammerfall she strode into the inn.
The nights had cooled considerably. A stray gust of air slipped through a crack in the wooden wall of the sleeping quarters causing a slight hissing noise to break the silence of the night. Drawing his robes more tightly around his frame to cut the sudden chill, Sardonix continued to focus on the journal. Pen to parchment, he began to write beneath his drawing.
Another sleepless night, another vision. While scrying in Hammerfall, the image of the sun came to me. Flares of fire broke the sphere's surface, undulating as it burned brightly within the flame. A circular shadow crept slowly in front of the sun, breaching the right perimeter of the sphere. The shadow continued its path to obscure the sun until all that remained was darkness.
Sabrielle found the lower level of the inn deserted, with only a small lantern tucked in the corner of the pantry to provide enough light to prevent stumbles or trips - not enough to have been the source of what she saw from the courtyard.
Despite reconnaissance, with only a few cursory members of the order remaining in Arathi it was hard to predict who might be upstairs with a candle lit. It was a tough call, and it offered the promise of pain or pleasure; pain if her presence was rebuked, pleasure if it was someone she could turn in her favour. Silently she withdrew a coin and flipped it.
The relief of the dagger glinted in the half light, and she smirked.
Clearing her throat to break the silence, she rapped smartly on the table.
"Hello? Anyone home to offer a meal to a weary traveller?"
She waited several moments for a reply, but none came. She sighed, idly cracking the first knuckles of her fingers against her thumb. She supposed that maybe whoever was around hadn't heard her, but the irritation of possibly being ignored was far more satisfying than logic.
Ascending the flights of stairs, she used the doorframe to hide her and peered cautiously into the sleeping quarters. Sardonix sat with his back to her, writing steadily in the candlelight. She hadn't seen the man before that she could recall, and watched him for several moments before withdrawing down a few steps, making her footfalls heavier in order to not startle him before appearing more obviously in the darkened doorway and clearing her throat softly.
"Apologies, you haven't seen the innkeeper by chance, have you?"
The sin'dorei continued his careful writing on the page, making no sort of physical reaction to the woman's voice. He hadn't recalled it before, warranting him to quirk an eyebrow before replying. "They have all retired for the evening," he spoke in a calm, smooth tone.
After dipping the quill back into the ink, he lifted it carefully, allowing the excess to drip back into the inkwell. "If you are in need of a place to sleep, you may choose any cot on this level or the level below. I believe Adegwa keeps some ale and bread overnight in the kitchen should you wish."
She quirked an indignant eyebrow, considering the combination of his careful yet matter-of-fact reply and his ignorant body language. It was curious. He spoke as though familiar with the regime of Hammerfall, yet she still could not place him.
"No. I've no wish to stay in this place." Her lip curled even at the thought of it, and her eyes drifted to repairs still unfinished. "Suppose I'm merely passing through, the light of your candle drew me in to inquire. I meant not to disturb."
Squinted slightly, he gazed into the candle as it illuminated the table. Something made him wary, yet he continued to contain any reaction as he placed the quill to the parchment once more.
"Not many simply 'pass through' Hammerfall without an express purpose. And yet the hour is late. All the 'hospitalities' of Hammerfall are at your disposal should you desire." He stressed the word hospitalities as it rolled from his tongue, a hint of disdain entering his tone.
A smirk bled across her lips and she folded her arms.
"Is it so necessary to point out that people rarely ever do things without express purpose? Whether such purpose is obvious to them or to others is what's questionable, I find."
She snickered softly, adjusting her weight as though to turn and leave. "But there is no need to get into semantics with a stranger in the middle of the night. I can't say I have the desire to partake in any of Hammerfalls' hospitality, as you put it. I'll play my own polite part and leave you to your evening, since my curiosity has been satisfied."
He smirked to himself before shaking his head. "No, it is not so necessary as to point out such a blatant fact. Purposeless actions are best left to fools." His desire to sate his curiosity got the better of him as he turned in his chair to glance over his shoulder to her.
"Fascinating that a single candle flickering in a window was enough to intrigue you so." His eyes narrowed in on the girl, noting a striking resemblance between this woman and Jasolei. "Though if your curiosity has been adequately satisfied, I will keep you no longer."
Sardonix paused a moment, taking in the woman's features as the soft glow of the candle hit her skin. He needed more answers -- more than her cryptic responses allowed. "Though if you would indulge a stranger, I have a bottle of Dalaran red that I would be glad to share."
"Fascinating that a light source from what should be a sleeping building drew my eye?" She shrugged a shoulder, noticing the surreptitious way his eyes traversed her form. "Perhaps I should simply read between the lines, and appreciate that you're suggesting I keep my nose out of others' business."
She chuckled dryly at that, lounging herself more comfortably against the doorway despite her previous pretense of leaving. "Though if that is the case, then I find myself in a quandary with an offer of sharing such a fine bottle of wine." She considered him a moment and pocketed the coin that had still been in one hand.
"Though if my parents taught me nothing else, it's to at least be polite. And it would be rather impolite of me to turn down such kindness."
"Mm, but simple kindness could potentially imply an action without a purpose." He turned to face forward in his chair once more, grasping an empty wine glass as he retrieved the bottle of Dalaran red. Smirking to himself, he poured a glass for her, placing it gently across the table from him. He refilled his own glass before setting the bottle back down against the table.
"Sardonix Shadowflame," he stated, motioning to the chair to beckon her to sit. He pushed his open journal off to the side, keeping the book open to allow the ink further time to dry. "And you are?"
She snorted softly. "There are no actions without purpose. Didn't we already discuss this? Or is the point to draw my attention away from the fact you have a spare wine glass readily within reach, despite the hour and desolate nature of the township. Which we also already discussed."
The smirk curled one side of her mouth as she moved to the chair opposite him, sliding into it with an oddly fluid grace. Her expression was mostly aloof as she looked at him, taking the wine glass and smelling the contents before taking a sip, raising the glass slightly in thanks as she allowed the bouquet to mellow on her tongue.
"Sabrielle Dawnsong." She replied after a moment, licking her lips and settling back in the chair.
"How astute, Miss Dawnsong. Though I hate to disappoint. The second glass was merely a coincidence. I find most of the company here to be rather dull. I cannot say that I often engage in idle banter unless I find something intriguing regarding an individual." He ignored his own wine as he intertwined his fingers to rest his wrists against the table.
"But returning to the true intention of your visit to Hammerfall. What exactly are you seeking, Miss Dawnsong? I would venture to guess you are not looking to join the order." He smirked softly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.
She sipped lightly at the wine once more before letting it rest against her crossed leg, twirling the stem between dexterous fingers.
"Order?" She tilted her head to one side, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What order do you speak of, Sir Shadowflame? I know of none whom call Hammerfall home. Save for the Orcs of the Defilers, perhaps." She lied blatantly, her expression nonplussed and tone refined enough to make the curiosity seem honest.
"Simply passing through, as I stated earlier. One cannot argue with a Dragonhawk that wishes to roost for the night. I was closer to Hammerfall than to Galen's Fall, and find myself waiting for a steed to be sent on so that I might continue my travel."
He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. The lit candle obscuring part of her face, his eyes seemed to gaze through the flame rather than around it as he looked to Sabrielle. The candle's reflection in her eyes seemed to offer the man some insight into this curious visitor.
Leaning back in his chair, his clasped hands fell to rest atop his lap. "Not looking for your sister then?" His gaze locked to hers, he watched for any reaction to his statement.
She quirked an eyebrow at that, keeping her face neutral as she tilted her head to one side. Her eyes narrowed the slightest of a fraction as she watched his expression.
"What makes you think I have a sister? And even if I did.. What's it to you if I was looking for her or not?"
He grinned broadly, seeming to strike a bit of a nerve in her with his vague assumptions. He decided to press a bit further as his eyes narrowed in response to her more intent stare. "It would be none of my business. I simply find it curious that one would wait till the dead of night to seek out one's own blood."
His posture relaxed slightly as he reached up to his wine glass, partaking in a small sip. "And yet, she is nowhere to be found. Though perhaps you expected it that way? Which draws me back to your intentions here in Hammerfall." He held the wine glass to his lips as he continue to gaze deeply into her eyes for a brief moment. A slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he took a drink of wine.
"The skirting of answers by asking more questions? That'll get old pretty quick."
She had to will herself not to rise too greatly to his bait, instead silencing herself for a moment by taking a few sips of wine in quick succession.
"You also found it curious that a simple light in a dark town would draw someone's attention. Perhaps you are one who finds curiosity in innocuous actions?" She shrugged, shifting in her seat to cross her legs the other way now.
"So let me ask again, I'll play devil's advocate. Say I am here, with intentions concerning my sister. What does it interest you? And spare me your simple curiosities. I ain't buying that."
He grinned broadly at her attempts to shake him from his line of questioning. An air of darkness swirled behind his green eyes as he smirked in amusement to her. "Perhaps I am seeking her as well. Perhaps in the same way that leads you into her residence in the cover of night. After all," he mused before he took another drink of wine. "I have some of my own questions. And only she holds the answers."
She made it a statement, not a question, and her contempt was obvious.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate that. She does so very much love it when she's the center of attention. That whole 'woe-is-me, nobody likes me thing'? Please."
Her lip curled of its' own accord as she raised her glass and drained another measure of wine.
"I suppose that begs the question that if you're looking for her, why it is you're found here? Surely you know as well as I that she has not been to Hammerfall in many days."
Sardonix quirked an eyebrow at her frankness, chuckling softly as their game of words drew to a close. He obliged, no longer skirting the issue. "Mmm, I am ever the dutiful pyromancer of Lionsbane, Miss Dawnsong. One must keep up appearances even when the leaders stray from the base of operations. I would not get very far if I were to only be an obedient little recruit when Jasolei or Malric are in Hammerfall."
She snorted as he continued to make pretenses to something he was not, but the revealing of his profession spoke for him.
"Ah, you're one of those." She said with distaste in reference to those of magic schooling. "Figured as much."
Swilling the remainder of her wine around in her glass, she looked up to him. "But tell me, just how well is being an obedient little lap dog working out for you?" She grinned, raising her glass to him in a toast before draining the final mouthful.
"Afraid she holds no love for me. Thus little trust. I have my work cut out for me here." His focus narrowed in on Sabrielle's eyes once more as her tone dripped with disdain for his profession. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he turned his attention to his glass of wine. "One 'of those,' Miss Dawnsong?"
"Trust? Jasolei? Now you're trying to make me laugh." She hitched an eyebrow and ran her tongue over her teeth as she set the glass back on the table, settling back into the chair with her hands in her lap to answer his question.
"Caster. Mana-user. Mage. Priest. Warlock." She shrugged a shoulder. "Spell-flinger. Whatever you want to call yourself."
"Pyromancer. I divine utilizing flames. Or does your disdain for all schools of magic run so deeply that even the art of divination is a bastardization of what you would deem to be 'true ability?'" He chuckled softly before taking a drink of wine. The man remained calm in the face of her bitterness towards casters of any sort, not allowing any of her words or her tone to shake his relaxed demeanor.
"When you don't use magic and you're treated with contempt no matter who you are, or what you do? Tit for tat, don't you think? Nobody pauses to ask the specifics of the unworthy. Just bestowing the same courtesies as are bestowed upon me."
"Besides," she continued after a moment. "If I were you? I'd be more offended by the riff-raff that gets about calling themselves Pyromancers, than be worried about what those of us without 'talent' think of you. Magi are all about being the biggest phoenix in the playground, right?"
"I hold no concern regarding your thoughts on myself or my field of study. Caster or no, we all play a part in this game. I am sure you have skills that I could never hope to possess."
He scoffed slightly at her mention of other so-called pyromancers. "Pyromancer is nothing but a pretty name to some. To me it is a way of life. That alone helps me to rise above the 'riff-raff.' Perhaps not in other's eyes, but I have already stated how little I care of what people may think of me or my profession." He shrugged nonchalantly, sipping at his wine.
"I never said you cared what anyone thought. You asked me of the foundation of my disdain, I simply explained. You're the one who brought up 'true ability', not me. I never said you weren't capable, nor did I say you were no more capable than another."
She shrugged and inspected her thumbnail for a moment, idly scratching at a ragged edge with her index. "Never been one to care about what others thought of me either. Someone once told me that goes hand in hand with recklessness." She shrugged a shoulder, glancing at him. "A Mage, no less."
