#eoloran

The lone figure slowly made her way towards the edge of the cliffside, without a care for the downpour. Her vantage point provided a perfect view of the ruins of Dalaran... Well, what was left of it after magi and looters alike had already cleared out every nook and canny.

The observer knew this as fact, for she had already inspected them closely more than once during her brief stay on the Isle of Dorn. Yet here she was once again, maybe for the last time, and not because of the storm.

If anything, the weather seemed to please her, were anyone close enough to witness the cant of the pair of elven ears sticking out from the hood. Ears that stayed still as the raindrops didn't quite make direct contact. Barely visible runes shimmered at the hem of her cloak, the enchantment woven into the cloth keeping the garment and the elf wearing it dry even under these circumstances.

Uncle Eoloran would scoff and admonish her for such frivolous use of the gift of arcane she was blessed with. "That's just the thing, Uncle. You're not here..." The voice was bitter and resigned, lacking the playful warmth of the past. Of a time when Sharyssa would go home to her little apartment in the floating city, or visit her uncle to discuss any recently published theory on arcane magic. Her place, her life she had carved out after finally leaving Suramar, being freed from a legacy she'd never wanted, gone. Crashed into the ground below, with almsot every possession she held dear. Even her prosthetic arm, left at her home in pieces, waiting for an upgrade that would never happen now.

Her uncle? Likely gone as well, but she couldn't even be sure. Eoloran Soursea was old, once a magister in the Court of Azshara herself when she was still the queen of the kaldorei, and his mastery over the arcane arts was something Sharyssa could only dream of, and hope she could match one day. She shook her head lightly with a scoff and sighed. That spark of ambition lingered on, but the nightborne would have gladly traded it in exchange for news on her uncle's fate. He survived many a conflict locked away in magical stasis, and there were plenty of odd gadgets and relics in his possession whose purpose Sharyssa had no idea about.

To be completely honest, she wasn't a hundred percent sure he was even in the city when the catastrophe had happened. That thought gave her hope and suffering in equal measure, though surely after all this time he would have contacted her or the family of his grandchildren at Hyjal if he was fine... Right? Sharyssa hated these doubts. They brought her no closer to the truth, but lingered on in the back of her mind, unrelenting. She sighed again.

It was almost midnight, but the magelight at Eoloran Soursea's desk was still lit, a solitary source of light in the darkness. The old elf exhaled, closed the book and stood slowly. He adjusted his monocle and checked the clock. Another late night. Was it maybe the tenth in a row? He couldn't recall, he'd been doing it for so long.

Extinguishing the light with a flick of a finger, the arcanist made his way to the oversized window and pulled away the curtains. It was a clear, cloudless night, nothing to hinder the light of Elune and the stars illuminating the sky. "It's been over thirteen millennia, yet the starry sky barely changed. I can't help but wonder, had we retained our immortality, would be just as unchanging?" The kaldorei mused aloud, recalling the same sight he'd been watching from one of the spires of the Royal Palace in Zsin-Azshari in the distant past.

"Probably not." Eoloran chuckled, his voice exhausted. It were moments like these when he truly felt his age. "In the end, change is inevitable. Nothing is truly eternal, not even the night sky." He shook his head and turned his back to the window.

He should try to get some rest, even if he knew it was futile, his mind filled with the image closest to eternity.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Eoloran smiled mischievously. “Come on, Dear Courier, don’t take my reply to heart. This old man didn’t have a chance to tease anyone in a good while, and this question of yours gave me the perfect opportunity.”

Only when he was alone once more did Eoloran take out a medallion from his robe and popped it open. The picture of a smiling kaldorei woman greeted him.

“Esrya, my love...” The old spellcaster muttered with a sad smile, gently caressing the picture with his thumb. Thousands of years have passed since the death of his wife, but her memory was as fresh in his mind as always.

For Sharyssa, family is really important. Her father was expelled from Suramar, his actual fate unknown to her, but he is either dead or withered completely (she secretly hopes it is the former, since the latter can be considered as worse than death). Still, she has her mother and her little sister, whom she dotes on a lot, partly because Alythrea is the last legacy of their father. Another family member she is really close to now is her uncle Eoloran. She only met him recently, but they get on very well. He also taught her a lot about arcane magic that helped her increase her skills, though he couldn’t offer pointers about other types since he only pursued the arcane all his life. Last but not least there is Asharin, her first cousin once removed. He actually saved her life after her plan to get more arcwine backfired as she was put on public display as an example. They get along well, he feels more like a good-natured elder brother to her instead of a cousin.

//A bonus family tree:

Eoloran, a Highborne who served for a time at the Court of Azshara, actually prefers simple outfits, as in plain robes with at most two colors, maybe the lining being a third, but that’s it. Far from the ‘pomp’ and extremes that some archmages and their ilk wears.

General Information

Name: Eoloran Soursea

Nicknames: 'Grumpy Old Man'

Race: Night Elf

Faction: Alliance (Neutral)

Age: Over 13 000

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Widower

Facial Likeness: Gary Oldman

"My decision is influenced by the... 'thing' in question, but I am an old man." Eoloran replied with a raised eyebrow, one hand running down his silver beard. "That might sounds strange coming from a kaldorei, but it is the truth. I was already an official magister in the court of Azshara decades before the War of the Ancients began. That might give you some estimation. Precisely for this reason, I can be rather... set in my ways. Change is not impossible, it is inevitable by its very nature, but it does not come easily to me."