It would arrive at the former sentinel’s doorstep, a finely finished wooden box. The top was etched with golden lines that suggested the shape of a face. Two indents were carved along the edge of the box. Carved with precision to fit a pair of thumbs. Something was etched along the beveled lid of the box in the same gold hue as the outlines in some cryptic series of symbols. A language primal and ancient yet twisted to appear almost uncomfortable to even look at. No note was left, and no one was seen leaving the box. It would just be there one morning, waiting for her.
Always early to rise, right alongside Velerodra, Dianesh’s mornings consisted of a simple ritual. Coffee and sitting on the front porch while watching the fog roll away from the sleepy mining town of Duiskwatch.
This morning was no different, aside from the fact she nearly tripped over the unexpected box. With a muttered curse in Darnassian, she set her coffee aside and stooped to pick up the wooden container.
A careful eye was given to it, looking over the golden etchings critically. It wasn’t lost on her that there was some discomfort to gazing, which only deepened her caution. This wasn’t Velerodra’s typical style, not by a long shot. Nor was it the style of any of her close friends or relatives. Eilithe, perhaps but the runes seemed out of place for her.
Finding her way to her favored chair, she sat with one leg crossed, box in her lap, all while a free hand reached for her coffee. For a time she just stared at the thing, deep in thought as to what she might do with it. Caution dictated that it could very well be a terrible idea to open such a thing. Curiosity drove her to question what might lie within. Eventually she set her coffee aside and nestled her thumbs into the notches, letting out a slow breath before carefully and slowly opening the lid, paying mind to any potential traps she might set off.
The box would open in response to the former sentinel’s fingertips, the runes along the beveled edge would begin to fade and vanish symbol by symbol until all were gone. As the script faded a soft voice would speak what was once writen.
“A vision that was not meant for me, but for you. Open your eyes and see.”
There was nothing menacing about the voice, it spoke quietly. A fading murmur.
Within the box Dianesh would find an intricately carved ceremic death mask. Great care was taken to ensure the smallest details of the subject’s features were captured with an uncanny accuracy. The visage Dianesh would find herself staring at would be a familiar one. Her own. A mask of her own face carefully sculpted and set inside the box’s soft velvet interior. Whomever had created it had put a great deal of care into its creation.
Should the former Sentinal touch her ceremic visage she would find it was perfectly suited to be placed upon her face. There was no dark magic dwelling within mask, but there was magic radiating, something that felt natural and primal.
What she chose to do with the strange object was up to her.