#eldre'thalas

It was of course, as the Archmage desired. One never dealt with a Whitespire without an ace in the pocket. The family was inordinately powerful; and even this graceful swan, Cyan’thiel Whitespire’s youngest daughter, possessed his fiery soul within her frosty exterior. He suspected she had no idea what really happened to her parents; else, he couldn’t imagine that she would have willingly returned to Eldre’Thalas. It was not the time nor was it his place to inform her, however. The Archmage had other goals in mind this day, and his ambition allowed for naught to get in the way of his aims.

With a flick of his wrist, the decanter hovered up from its resting place and levitated over to her trembling glass, filling it well and full again before returning to top off his own and return to its place on the table. Taking a long sip, he set his glass down with a soft thud. Time to get to the point, and quickly, while she was subdued.

“My dear Miss Whitespire. Your beauty and grace are indeed as it has been said, and your skill in magic is formidable.” When her answer was merely a quizzical arched brow, he nodded, continuing quickly. “More so perhaps than even you realize.” The Archmage pushed himself up from his desk, gave one firm tug at his robes to situate them, and padded languidly forward toward the scrying pool which exuded its light in the corner of the office, shimmering and quiet. With a wave of his hand over its placid surface, the illumination increased, slowly coalescing into colors and shapes to help make his point.

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.