#shylmenra

[shylmenra]

[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.))

[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 (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 (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 (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.