[The envelope is surprisingly lavish with thick rice paper perfectly folded and outlined with gold embroidery. It's sealed shut with crimson wax that has a decorative E stamped into it. The letter tucked inside is of the same, rich material, dark ink scrawled across it in cursive handwriting Andreo may vaguely recognize. Despite the long paper, however, only a few words are written...] The pen I'm using to write this with costs more gold than I've made in my lifetime. I've found heaven. —HISS
Another letter in the pile, one that caused Andreo’s head to tilt right. The makings looked Pandaren, and though he didn’t recognize the wax seal, for a moment he hoped…
He quirked both eyebrows up, then snorted abruptly in amusement. This one he placed aside with a smile, because he bet Denastien would get a good grin out of it too.
Leaning for a clean sheet of paper, he wrote back:
Hiss,
If you need fancy paper, man, I can hook you up with fancy paper and books. I do a whole, whole, whole lot of writing, believe you me.
Do a lot of enchanting related to writing, too. Have a kind of bird you like for a quill? Want a journal that looks blank if it’s opened the wrong way, or something fire or waterproofed? If the pen you wrote with is one you can keep, can link it to an inkwell so you only have to refill the bottle. Easy peasy stuff to do for you. I don’t charge friends, either- consider it something snappy for Winter’s Veil, if you can think of anything you want?
Ann’da and minn’da signed. Astrell said she’s thinking about it, but probably will since ann’da did. I didn’t realize they knew each other and even worked for the same organization? Figured it was a more recent thing, since she’s teaching Lorren, so may have known him through you two- or through his husband, even- but no. Small world.
You, me, coffee or tea tonight if you’ve got it free, and you can give me all the I-told-you-sos you like.
But if you lord me even once, I am going to walk out.
The letter bore an icon of blood in fanciful inks across the front, stamped in just hard enough that it left an imprint in the heavy paper. Reliquary detailing marked it.
Ah. His cousin. Well. His cousin-in-law. They technically had no blood ties remaining, but kept in contact none the less. She was close enough to being family that he took her letters and all of her chaffing petulance in good humor. What wonders of picking at him would she come up with, this time?
Andreo’s eyebrow quirked as he flipped the letter open, bright eyes skimming its contents.
AD,
Why not take up the name again? I don't understand your reasoning. It's not to some noble purpose, and the idea of changing or rebelling against the elements of status quo which remain the same even after the Scourge is frankly ridiculous. Saying the only title you need is... your order is, effectively, dead. It's been four years since I've even heard anyone else bandy around the Dawn Priest name. Even remnant Dusk Priests are exceedingly rare.
That is a ridiculously outdated title, too. We’ve moved on. You should, too. I like relics, but you’re a bit young to become one!
You could do better. You CAN do better. No one frankly cares about what happened in Outland, now, if that was part of it. Less so now than ever, all things considered. We’ve felblood and Illidari come home, and in comparison? The offenses you’ve voiced aloud, at least, are slight.
To happier things. Thank you for your contributions to the Reliquary lately, by the way. One of those books turned up some interesting information and we passed it along to the Spire. You'll be getting a bonus for it.
I hear you've been in Silvermoon again, lately. Lunch? I won't even try to recruit you this time. I promise.
Sincerely, AD.
Andreo flipped through his stationery, pulling papers and a pen back in to write on his response. He curled up in his own bright workroom, sequestered away from the world in Lan’dal. Slowly working through business in Quel’thalas while he was there for a while, he had half a dozen ledgers, a messy stack of correspondence letters addressed between three aliases, and an accounting book scattered across his desk. Sun did he miss Quill and the conveniences the eccentric accountant gave him. The books weren’t hard, just... time consuming, and Andreo did not quite have the patience for finding every loophole advantage he could without motivation. At least he had a few nice distractions and pleasant company while working on it all.
He’d rather be - no, he would head back to the Broken Isles, soon enough. The allure, history, and intrigue of Suramar and all the highborne and Titan ruins there proved hard to resist. Also the unrepentant need to keep the Legion from repeating their performance with yet another Well. Uhg.
Not to mention... no, he pushed the idea of all of the perks and magic and recent escapades in shal’dorei territory and a sweet memory of blood on his hands out of mind.
He had a neat set of materials and books to move for project work, had cleaned and organized things somewhat. Maybe his memory failed him, but he could swear things in the tower had been moved a bit. Might as well sort it nicely so that the couple of people who might break in could find distractions there easily enough.
And a few personal letters...
Examiner Dynaer,
Yes to lunch. No to everything else. Consider me stubborn.
What else would I call myself? A divinist, a high priest, an astromancer fitting though it may be, some ridiculous arcanist who just so happens to deal more in Light than the arcane? None of them suit. Not really. Not outside of jokes and posturing.
A priest of the Eternal Sun? True though it is, it feels more pretentious than I aim. I’d rather not cause a strife and debate with every Sin’dorei Holy Light reborn rejoin the church something something power of the na’aru blah blah advocate I cross. Sorry, sort of. I know you’re one of them. Even if ultimately we’ve all similar goal and purpose, whatever the scoffing regard for detail, it’s hardly worth it.
So many who had been of the cloth instead joined Lady Liadrin’s order or the Church outright that—hah. I haven’t even been back into the Sunwell on official business in four years, either. My last request for a Midsummer song was outright denied. Are you sure it wasn’t my name you heard? Anyway, others have it- covered now. Protected. Blessed. It’s good, too. The specifics hardly matter of who does what and how, so long as it’s done.
But, no. I remain as I am. Besides. It’s part of our history. It’s part of how I identify myself, and how I regard myself besides. Something of an amusement, too. How many are there who hold the sun in high regards, for symbolism or religion otherwise? Whatever proof of theorem the na’aru embody, we’ve all our reasons, and all of them seem to span ten thousand years or more. Even constructs and buildings of the Titans themselves- It may be history, yes, but it is hardly outdated. It is also hardly without proof of merit. Start a debate with a Shu’halo adherent of An’she about what proof they even have of that Eye of the Earthmother’s existence, sometime. Ask a pandaren of their own Dawn Priests and all the fierce symbolism behind new dawns. Take a trip to speak with the Tol’vir and ask their history. Get into it with me over lunch again, if you like, though I imagine someone as distinguished as yourself is well aware of our own points of power and metaphoric labels.
Just stop asking me about the house name thing while you’re doing it. I left it be for a good enough reason. I know that Mimi’s sitting on a goldmine between them. It’s been on my mind, I do confess, but I can’t. I just- maybe it needs a several more years. I don’t think you or Jack can convince me it’s half as important as either of you believe it is. I’m proud of it. I am. But unless Kalo or Fi appear from the woodwork and try to claim legitimacy, or one of my aunt’s pack of Brighthallows says its theirs by right, or the Quel’thorin tries to sell or use the assets which they’ve assured me they will not—
Even if I’ve been wanting something for myself, that’s not quite what I meant, Ali! Who cares about those two, when so many houses fell? What’s the point? There’s none. But—oh, fine. I guess we can talk about it. The fact that I debate with myself in a letter to you proves there’s wiggle room enough. Perhaps you can help me bring my thoughts on the matter to honest clarity.
Pass my regards along to ann’da, too, would you? You’ll cross him before I do. I hear he’s up to something really very interesting, too.
A pad of paper was laid across Andreo's lap as he sat beneath a table in the Lan'dal Estate's library. Said table had been turned into a temporary fort, currently acting as His Spot. Books lay in a neat pile to one side, a pillow cushioned his lean against the wall, while a too-long table runner closed in the space on two sides. Curled up, comfortable albeit sore, he had no intention of moving for a while. He used to always write so many letters to people, so constantly, and especially this one some time ago. Why was one little letter turning out to be so hard?
Andreo scrawled out, then crossed through no less than five false starts.
How are you? Missions haven't been too trying on you lately, I hope.
Are the children and your husband doing well?
I know we haven't talked in a while, especially been too long after everything, but--
It's been some time, we should get together and catch up maybe.
I needed to write you something pretty even if it might be too late for it and you're not really into that sappy kind of stuff, but this stupid pen apparently has a curse of idiocy on it that requires cleansing first.
The waifish elf made a frustrated little growl, an odd sound out of him, and dragged the sheet aside to crumple it. On the next page, he drew instead, a pattern of overlapping circles and geometric forms with simple sine waves beneath; something to clear his head.
The third page saw another attempt at writing, again immediately crossed out. He did not end up getting something on paper worth sending out.
Unfinished/unsent letters and partial writing fragments from February
For your pride, people die. You might have been brusque, but you were a damned good healer.
Take up some assumed name and come help in Kun Lai or Krasarang. I swear no one will know nor particularly care who you were, in favor of what you are doing.
I'm tired of watching Reliquary and Sunreavers fall around me.
AD
-
No. I said goodbye already, and would not see my son put through such circumstance.
Do what you wish.
AD
-
I know it was you. You're damned lucky the buyer did not blame me, or there would be a fel-cursed mess to pay for.
Went out of my way to help you and made you disappear. This is the payback? I don't care how many of those had been yours. My library, my right.
Unless you're going to help me and mine as I've asked, for Light's sake, just- just- stay dead.
AD
-
Even I'll admit I couldn't have expected that. Nicer than I gave you credit for. Thank you.
Truce?
AD
No one expected the quiet, friendly priest to be much more than what he presented himself as. Truthfully, that was the case; he was as he acted. Curious, happy, sometimes too analytical and prone to rambling. On sparse occasions, debative and rather hyperactive moods showed themselves. He was expressive, and loved idle chit-chat more than anything. At times, he could be a genius, and in others, make the most inept and stumbling trips imaginable.
In his mind, he thought himself a monster. He had been a killer once. Still tended to think in ways that were fantastically dehumanizing. Sometimes the urge was there again, impossible to disarm.
Just let this one bleed out, Andreo.
Feel their life running away
in so many heartbeats
and so many little rivulets.
No. I'll save them all, if I can. Live, dammit!
That one would scream, so sweetly, with the power torn out of them...
Imagine that one, haloed in sun's fire...
He could feel it out there, somewhere. It had taken just enough of him to know rage, frustration. Defeat. Just enough to stay cohesive. Andreo was, on occasion, deeply glad he had not loosed that... thing in Pandaria.
It could not take a host. Though the shade could exert some influence over others, generally in warping perceptions of reality, it simply did not have the facilities for possession. Not unless it somehow found one of those perfect canidates, who had just the right kind of soul to wrap around.
Or one so cloaked in the dark to invite it in and let it find home.
Somewhere, in some remote corner of Lordaeron, it screamed out silently. Animals scattered.
It was fleeing something. A relentless pursuer. Maybe it ran from Andreo himself. After all, the tables had turned. The man intended to rip what was his from the shade, and it was marginally aware of his intent. If only he could catch the damnable thing, which was weakened and growing weaker over time. He was growing stronger, day by day. If he could find it, getting what he wanted back was a really rather simple matter. With that, he could fix... so much, so easily, and spare the man who patiently worked on him some frustration and heartache.
Except... except it was still fleeing, even when he paid that silently tugging string no attention.
Interesting. There were all sorts of beings that might chase a fascinating little case like that. Maybe it was Eidolen, he thought, amused. On second thought, he rather hoped not, as that left the Estate lacking a prime defender.
Lady rested her head down, staring at him. The cloud serpent's golden scales had been polished to a perfect shine, and the opalescent end of her tail flipped back and forth.
He stared back.
Unlike when the dragon was a hatchling, he could actually win these contests, now.
It helped that Mistake wandered by Lady at just the right time, making her glance away when the urge to blink was beginning to weigh heavily on the priest.
Miss Akahir,
The last letter that I sent you was, perhaps, brashly written. Threats and insults are incredibly unbecoming, and I am one to believe that bonds of blood and history, despite distances of time, are- ever something to consider.
And, to be perfectly honest? Miss Aldridge asked me, in light of recent events, to attempt mend this particular broken bridge. Shall we try again?
In good faith, I've included something from the Dal'endal's holdings that may be of particular interest to you. With it, also, a map. You also have my apologies, as the story of what became of its owner was a sad one. He survived through much of Dath'Remar's time, but fell to an Amani raid in what is now the eastern reaches of Lordaeron.
There is a marker there.
I suggest availing yourself of Argent or Cenarion Circle's markings, should you make the trip. It does brush dangerously close to territory that the Banshee's forces claim.
-An
- - -
Jerk,
Thanks. Maybe you're not so bad after all.
I'll make sure she gets that book you were after.
I. Akahir
Andreo had been writing letters of inspiration and exploration to someone very far removed from Silvermoon. In penning these notes, a thought came to mind that he could not rid himself of.
"Yet, more and more often, the direction I find myself wishing to go is simply the one that he is in."
While your treatise on applied solar and stellar whatever the fel holy-mixing nonsense that was certainly proved entertaining, you should stop dabbling.
In fact, just leave magic to the professionals all around, kid. Thousands of years of experience trumps your creative shortcuts.
You are just going to hurt someone, one of these days.
Moron.
I. Akahir
- - -
Miss Akahir,
Thank you for your advice. It will be taken into serious consideration. Is being professional a lost art, or did the Sundering happen to also destroy what few manners you theoretically possessed in the first place? As you are uninterested in trading any serious discourse which could better the both of us, you're dead if I ever see you.
Take care, pleasant travels. Do leave me a message if you ever plan on a trip alone through neutral territory. However, should you wish to continue discussions civilly, I would adore the opportunity, rescind any threats, and apologize for any insults.
