#sabrielle

I created this on sunday 9/19/21 as an improvisation. developed it today 9/23/21, and it became this. there's a video coming, where I recorded a bit of that improve :) 

enjoy ~

My best friend, @kanuvina, put this beautiful aesthetic post together for one of my Original Characters from my fic I wrote.  

It was a typical scene for Sardonix as he sat alone at a table in the dimly lit tavern along Murder Row. An old, dusty book in front of him, his eyes poured over the page as the text completely absorbed him. A single glass of Dalaran red sat half full within his reach, however he was too focused on his research to indulge in his drink just yet.

Sabrielle stalked into the inn with a sour expression on her face, which only accented the faint bruise that promised to blossom more fully over her right cheek within the next day or so.

"Punk." She muttered to herself as she made a cursory survey of the inn, her thoughts on the fight she'd just lost. Nobody of great interest caught her eye, and she crossed the room to pluck a bottle of ale from the ice bucket by the keepers' feet before tossing a coin at his chest. She took a long swig and turned, pausing as she made a secondary inspection of the patrons. The figure in the corner bore more than a passing resemblance to the curious man she'd met in Hammerfall as many nights ago. Tilting her head to one side, she walked towards him and leant on a nearby pole, silent as she took another drink.

"You know, if I believed in fate or coincidence, I'd be less likely to think you were following me." She licked her lips and quirked an eyebrow at him.

Sardonix quirked an eyebrow as he managed to pry his gaze from the book to glance up to Sabrielle. He chuckled softly, motioning to the chair across from him. "This time I am afraid I do not have a spare glass for you. Though," he nodded to the bottle in her hand before continuing. "Seems you might not need one."

She shrugged a shoulder, but accepted his invitation to join him. "I don't tend to rely on charity." She replied as she deposited herself into the opposite chair, having to resist the urge to prop her feet up on the table. "Appreciate the offer all the same."

Taking another drink, she wiped her mouth on the cloth bound around her wrist before speaking. "So. Obviously you've had enough of the 'hospitalities' of Hammerfall. Why Silvermoon?"

He tilted his head as he glanced to her with a quizzical gaze. "Because Silvermoon is my home? Truth be told, Dalaran is my real home. Though with the current state that it is in, I find myself wandering to Silvermoon more often than not." Shrugging slightly, he reached for his glass of wine, taking a small sip.

Sabrielle absently brought the bottle up to press the cool glass against her aching cheek. "Oh? Wasn't aware that there are issues in Dalaran. Though I guess it'd be arrogant to assume that all this shit with Hellscream wasn't spilling over to Northrend." She shrugged again. "Don't know much about it, don't really care."

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and removing the bottle to take another drink. "Hopefully you find at least a little of the comfort in Silvermoon that you'd find there. Not terribly well acquainted with Dalaran."

He shook his head. "With your distaste of... what did you call them? 'Magic slingers'?" He chuckled dryly as he grinned to her. "I would not imagine you would care too much about the happenings in Dalaran."

Waving a hand dismissively, he shook his head once more. "And you, Miss Dawnsong? What brings you to Murder Row?"

A smirk peered across her lips in spite of her mood.

"Mmm." She mused, licking her lips again. "A few drinks and a night of people watching, I suppose. I can't stand the simpering giggles and fluttering lashes in Wayfarers."

Sardonix chuckled softly, raising his glass once more, this time in a toast. "I will most certainly drink to that." He grinned to the woman before taking a longer drink. Placing his wine glass back against the table, Sardonix offered Sabrielle a smile.

He motioned to the condensation beading from her cheek. "Are you alright?"

Sabrielle quirked an eyebrow as he lifted his glass, mimicking the motion with her bottle. She shrugged mid-drink in response to his question, drawing her upper lip under her lower to free it of ale.

"Eh, I'm fine." She replied, shifting slightly in her seat. "Just a lucky shot and a bruise to show for it, no big deal. I'm rusty without blades, I guess."

He grinned to the woman, nodding. "Fair enough. As long as you are alright." Sardonix turned his attention from the woman's cheek to gaze down at his book. Placing a cloth marker between the pages, he closed the book to slide it off to the side. Reaching for the stem of his wine glass, his fingers trailed lightly against the cold glass before he lifted the wine to his lips.

The smirk returned quickly to her lips, and she crossed one leg over the other. "And if I weren't? Surely you're not concerned for my welfare so quickly."

Sardonix laughed, shaking his head. He smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "I believe you and I to hold some key commonalities. It would be in my best interest to ensure your well being. For the moment, at any rate. Though it appears you are more than capable of taking care of yourself."

Sabrielle snickered and wagged a finger at him knowingly. "Of course. That makes much more sense. Not the welfare of myself, per se, but the welfare of what I bring to the table, so to speak. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that."

She paused with the bottle halfway to her mouth again, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Or was I supposed to act all girlish and fall all over myself because you expressed an interest to protect me?" She snorted in amusement at her own joke before draining the rest of the bottle and setting it on the table.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Of course not. Though I find it more curious that you are not offended by my statement." Shrugging once more, he quirked an eyebrow as he looked back to her. "But you are correct. And I find myself greatly interested in the concept that you may regard Miss Shadowsong as an 'enemy.'"

"It would be somewhat hypocritical of me to be offended, don't you think?" Without elaborating, she folded her arms and slumped back in the chair so that her head rested against the back of it.

"Though you seem to be still splitting hairs on my choice of words. Simply an old adage to agree that we have something in common, nothing more. Yet you've still not alluded to what it is about her that intrigues you so." She quirked an eyebrow. 'Not that I expect him to be forthcoming with his motives,' she mused. "I can hardly imagine that you desire the title of Visionary for yourself."

Sardonix laughed heartily, shaking his head. "Mm, no. Far from that. She can keep the title in all of its glory." He took another drink of his wine before smiling to her. "But I could ask the same about what you seek from her. Though I know full well that neither of us are going to divulge our secrets. Not yet."

She grinned at his amusement, resting her elbow on the chair arm and propping her head up on her hand. "This is true. Though I must say, it's refreshing to be able to do away with the foreplay of pretense, and simply be aware that we have our own motives."

Sabrielle inspected a fingernail on her free hand, scowling as she noted the broken nail. Picking at it with her thumbnail, she glanced to Sardonix again. "I have to say, for being a Magister.. You don't have that..." She gesticulated as though searching for the word. "Pretentiousness, about you. You know what you want, presumably how to get it, and you're more about being patient and waiting than making a song and dance about not having it already." That was about as close to a compliment as she was going to get.

He quirked an eyebrow as he smiled to her, nodding in approval. "I appreciate your candor as well, Miss Dawnsong. It seems we are both driven to achieve our goals. And for that I am thankful. Particularly that I am not required to feign interest like I must around Miss Shadowsong. The entire farce is tedious."

She laughed at that. "Well that I am heartened by. Nothing worse than working to achieve a common goal while feeling there would be more pleasure in pulling out your own teeth instead." She smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "Though I wonder which farce is more tedious - yours, or hers."

Snickering to herself, she motioned to the waitress to bring another drink. " And please. Sabrielle." She insisted. "Not one for formalities, I'm afraid. Though if you wish me to call you Magister Shadowflame.. I suppose I can oblige."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Sardonix works perfectly fine." He lifted the glass to his mouth, rolling the edge of the glass against his lower lip briefly before taking a drink. "A 'pretentious' magister would request to be addressed as such."

Lowering his glass to the table once more, he offered her a smile before bowing his head. "I do not seek fancy titles for my own feeling of self importance. Only knowledge. That is what I seek. After all, knowledge is power."

Sabrielle offered him a coy smirk in return. "Indeed it is. Don't think it's lost on me that you entertain my presence for the value of my company. It does beg the question, however, of just how powerful the knowledge I have would be to you... And what you'd do to get it. Because as I see it, if knowledge is power, and I have knowledge you don't... That makes me more powerful than you."

She leaned forward then, resting both forearms on the table. "And presumably, like you.. I'm not particularly fond of giving away power to just anyone, for any reason. Even if it sees my goals accomplished more hastily."

His gaze narrowed in on her face, an amused grin playing about his lips. "Mmm, that entirely depends on what sort of compensation you seek for your knowledge. Though I cannot say I am entirely sure that you possess the knowledge I require. Though I do find you in a more suitable position to acquire that knowledge. More suitable than myself, at any rate."

She shrugged her shoulders without moving her arms from the table. "Then I suppose we find ourselves at an impasse. Without knowing what you want, I can hardly name a price, can I? And I'm certainly not about to start listing things I think you might be interested in."

Pursing her lips slightly, she narrowed her eyes a fraction in return; though her expression remained on the amused side of neutral. "And the underlying suggestion of being used for your gains hasn't been lost on me, either."

He smirked in amusement. "Underlying? And here I thought I was being fairly blunt with that fact." Chuckling softly, he quirked an eyebrow as his eyes studied her face a while. Nodding slowly, he lowered his voice to a whisper before leaning across the table toward her.

"Alright then. I seek more information regarding the namesake of her beloved order."

"Sarcasm isn't your strong suit, is it." She made it a statement, not a question, shifting so her free hand could twirl her ponytail as he leaned in. She was naturally adept with her body language, able to make the serious discussion look innocuous to an onlooker.

"Lionsbane?" She murmured, covering the quirk of her brow with a demure flutter of her lashes as the waitress came to set down another bottle on the table. Sabrielle waited for her to depart before speaking again. "And what of it? Just a name, is it not? On the premise of being pro-Horde?" She feigned ignorance, curious to see what he would share.

He grinned in amusement as he watched her eyes. "And ignorance is not your strong suit, my dear." He chuckled, his hands reaching to clasp the wine glass. "Or am I to assume you are truly unaware of the history behind the name 'Lionsbane'?"

She shrugged a shoulder as she reached for the new bottle, taking a drink and passing a cursory glance over the inn as she did so. "We've all heard the stories, I'm sure." She said at length, sucking on her upper lip for a moment as she looked back to him.

"So what, you're looking for a thing of legend?" She rested the edge of the bottle bottom on the table, using the neck to roll it side to side. "What's that got to do with Jasolei, exactly?"

His gaze narrowed in on her, eyes reading her features as if she were one of his books. "Mmm," he muttered before leaning back in his chair. Feeling he had said too much already, he shook his head before taking a long drink of wine to finish the remainder of his glass. "A story for another day, perhaps?"

Her expression was neutral and her gaze steady as she watched him retract, packing himself away into a box of impassivity. "Uh huh." She sounded unconvinced and she looked away, her eyes falling on nothing in particular.

The Hammerfall inn was particularly quiet during one starry night. With so many straying from Lionsbane's base in Arathi, the cots on the third floor of the inn remained untouched. And yet, the night was not entirely still.

Sardonix sat at one of the empty tables, quill in hand as a single candle lit the pages of his journal. The black haired sin'dorei sketched tirelessly on the parchment, inking the finishing touches. Placing the quill back in the inkwell, he paused as he gazed critically at his drawing. His eyes poured over each line, making sure the picture was a near perfect replica of his vision: the sun half obscured by a black circle.

Leaning back in his chair, he took pause to reach for a glass of red wine that had remained untouched until that moment. Sighing softly, he took a sip of wine only to return the glass to its original spot against the table. Attention returning to the quill, Sardonix retrieved the elegant feather, carefully dragging the tip against the side of the inkwell to remove the excess ink.

The hour drew on towards midnight as Sabrielle sat cross legged in front of the jimmied trunk, browsing through worn tomes and assorted pieces of paper. Despite her keen night vision there was more than enough light from the full sky for her to read, and her sister was ever the dutiful scribe.  There was barely a omitted detail of her time stranded in Quel'thalas.

'She almost makes it too damn easy.' The rogue thought to herself, tearing out pages she wished to keep and folding them to tuck inside her leather vest.  There was no room for the logic that if it was so easy, her last attempt would have been successful.  Sabrielle made no mistakes - she simply experimented.

Yawning, she stood and tossed the books back in the trunk and latched it. Crossing the courtyard, her thoughts dispersed as she noticed the light from the inn. Curiosity instantly had the better of her, and with the knowledge that the 'major players' of Lionsbane were absent from Hammerfall she strode into the inn.

The nights had cooled considerably. A stray gust of air slipped through a crack in the wooden wall of the sleeping quarters causing a slight hissing noise to break the silence of the night. Drawing his robes more tightly around his frame to cut the sudden chill, Sardonix continued to focus on the journal. Pen to parchment, he began to write beneath his drawing.

Another sleepless night, another vision. While scrying in Hammerfall, the image of the sun came to me. Flares of fire broke the sphere's surface, undulating as it burned brightly within the flame. A circular shadow crept slowly in front of the sun, breaching the right perimeter of the sphere. The shadow continued its path to obscure the sun until all that remained was darkness.

Sabrielle found the lower level of the inn deserted, with only a small lantern tucked in the corner of the pantry to provide enough light to prevent stumbles or trips - not enough to have been the source of what she saw from the courtyard. 

Despite reconnaissance, with only a few cursory members of the order remaining in Arathi it was hard to predict who might be upstairs with a candle lit. It was a tough call, and it offered the promise of pain or pleasure; pain if her presence was rebuked, pleasure if it was someone she could turn in her favour. Silently she withdrew a coin and flipped it.

The relief of the dagger glinted in the half light, and she smirked.

Clearing her throat to break the silence, she rapped smartly on the table.

"Hello? Anyone home to offer a meal to a weary traveller?"

She waited several moments for a reply, but none came. She sighed, idly cracking the first knuckles of her fingers against her thumb. She supposed that maybe whoever was around hadn't heard her, but the irritation of possibly being ignored was far more satisfying than logic.

Ascending the flights of stairs, she used the doorframe to hide her and peered cautiously into the sleeping quarters.  Sardonix sat with his back to her, writing steadily in the candlelight.  She hadn't seen the man before that she could recall, and watched him for several moments before withdrawing down a few steps, making her footfalls heavier in order to not startle him before appearing more obviously in the darkened doorway and clearing her throat softly.

"Apologies, you haven't seen the innkeeper by chance, have you?"

The sin'dorei continued his careful writing on the page, making no sort of physical reaction to the woman's voice. He hadn't recalled it before, warranting him to quirk an eyebrow before replying. "They have all retired for the evening," he spoke in a calm, smooth tone.

After dipping the quill back into the ink, he lifted it carefully, allowing the excess to drip back into the inkwell. "If you are in need of a place to sleep, you may choose any cot on this level or the level below. I believe Adegwa keeps some ale and bread overnight in the kitchen should you wish."

She quirked an indignant eyebrow, considering the combination of his careful yet matter-of-fact reply and his ignorant body language. It was curious.  He spoke as though familiar with the regime of Hammerfall, yet she still could not place him.

"No. I've no wish to stay in this place." Her lip curled even at the thought of it, and her eyes drifted to repairs still unfinished. "Suppose I'm merely passing through, the light of your candle drew me in to inquire. I meant not to disturb."

Squinted slightly, he gazed into the candle as it illuminated the table. Something made him wary, yet he continued to contain any reaction as he placed the quill to the parchment once more.

"Not many simply 'pass through' Hammerfall without an express purpose. And yet the hour is late. All the 'hospitalities' of Hammerfall are at your disposal should you desire." He stressed the word hospitalities as it rolled from his tongue, a hint of disdain entering his tone.

A smirk bled across her lips and she folded her arms.

"Is it so necessary to point out that people rarely ever do things without express purpose? Whether such purpose is obvious to them or to others is what's questionable, I find."

She snickered softly, adjusting her weight as though to turn and leave. "But there is no need to get into semantics with a stranger in the middle of the night. I can't say I have the desire to partake in any of Hammerfalls' hospitality, as you put it. I'll play my own polite part and leave you to your evening, since my curiosity has been satisfied."

He smirked to himself before shaking his head. "No, it is not so necessary as to point out such a blatant fact. Purposeless actions are best left to fools." His desire to sate his curiosity got the better of him as he turned in his chair to glance over his shoulder to her.

"Fascinating that a single candle flickering in a window was enough to intrigue you so." His eyes narrowed in on the girl, noting a striking resemblance between this woman and Jasolei. "Though if your curiosity has been adequately satisfied, I will keep you no longer."

Sardonix paused a moment, taking in the woman's features as the soft glow of the candle hit her skin. He needed more answers -- more than her cryptic responses allowed. "Though if you would indulge a stranger, I have a bottle of Dalaran red that I would be glad to share."

"Fascinating that a light source from what should be a sleeping building drew my eye?" She shrugged a shoulder, noticing the surreptitious way his eyes traversed her form. "Perhaps I should simply read between the lines, and appreciate that you're suggesting I keep my nose out of others' business."

She chuckled dryly at that, lounging herself more comfortably against the doorway despite her previous pretense of leaving. "Though if that is the case, then I find myself in a quandary with an offer of sharing such a fine bottle of wine." She considered him a moment and pocketed the coin that had still been in one hand.

"Though if my parents taught me nothing else, it's to at least be polite. And it would be rather impolite of me to turn down such kindness."

"Mm, but simple kindness could potentially imply an action without a purpose." He turned to face forward in his chair once more, grasping an empty wine glass as he retrieved the bottle of Dalaran red. Smirking to himself, he poured a glass for her, placing it gently across the table from him. He refilled his own glass before setting the bottle back down against the table.

"Sardonix Shadowflame," he stated, motioning to the chair to beckon her to sit. He pushed his open journal off to the side, keeping the book open to allow the ink further time to dry. "And you are?"

She snorted softly. "There are no actions without purpose. Didn't we already discuss this?  Or is the point to draw my attention away from the fact you have a spare wine glass readily within reach, despite the hour and desolate nature of the township. Which we also already discussed."

The smirk curled one side of her mouth as she moved to the chair opposite him, sliding into it with an oddly fluid grace. Her expression was mostly aloof as she looked at him, taking the wine glass and smelling the contents before taking a sip, raising the glass slightly in thanks as she allowed the bouquet to mellow on her tongue.

"Sabrielle Dawnsong." She replied after a moment, licking her lips and settling back in the chair.

"How astute, Miss Dawnsong. Though I hate to disappoint. The second glass was merely a coincidence. I find most of the company here to be rather dull. I cannot say that I often engage in idle banter unless I find something intriguing regarding an individual." He ignored his own wine as he intertwined his fingers to rest his wrists against the table.

"But returning to the true intention of your visit to Hammerfall. What exactly are you seeking, Miss Dawnsong? I would venture to guess you are not looking to join the order." He smirked softly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

She sipped lightly at the wine once more before letting it rest against her crossed leg, twirling the stem between dexterous fingers.

"Order?" She tilted her head to one side, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What order do you speak of, Sir Shadowflame? I know of none whom call Hammerfall home. Save for the Orcs of the Defilers, perhaps." She lied blatantly, her expression nonplussed and tone refined enough to make the curiosity seem honest.

"Simply passing through, as I stated earlier. One cannot argue with a Dragonhawk that wishes to roost for the night. I was closer to Hammerfall than to Galen's Fall, and find myself waiting for a steed to be sent on so that I might continue my travel."

He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. The lit candle obscuring part of her face, his eyes seemed to gaze through the flame rather than around it as he looked to Sabrielle. The candle's reflection in her eyes seemed to offer the man some insight into this curious visitor.

Leaning back in his chair, his clasped hands fell to rest atop his lap. "Not looking for your sister then?" His gaze locked to hers, he watched for any reaction to his statement.

"My sister?"

She quirked an eyebrow at that, keeping her face neutral as she tilted her head to one side.  Her eyes narrowed the slightest of a fraction as she watched his expression.

"What makes you think I have a sister? And even if I did.. What's it to you if I was looking for her or not?"

He grinned broadly, seeming to strike a bit of a nerve in her with his vague assumptions. He decided to press a bit further as his eyes narrowed in response to her more intent stare. "It would be none of my business. I simply find it curious that one would wait till the dead of night to seek out one's own blood."

His posture relaxed slightly as he reached up to his wine glass, partaking in a small sip. "And yet, she is nowhere to be found. Though perhaps you expected it that way? Which draws me back to your intentions here in Hammerfall." He held the wine glass to his lips as he continue to gaze deeply into her eyes for a brief moment. A slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he took a drink of wine.

"The skirting of answers by asking more questions? That'll get old pretty quick."

She had to will herself not to rise too greatly to his bait, instead silencing herself for a moment by taking a few sips of wine in quick succession.

"You also found it curious that a simple light in a dark town would draw someone's attention. Perhaps you are one who finds curiosity in innocuous actions?" She shrugged, shifting in her seat to cross her legs the other way now.

"So let me ask again, I'll play devil's advocate. Say I am here, with intentions concerning my sister. What does it interest you? And spare me your simple curiosities.  I ain't buying that."

He grinned broadly at her attempts to shake him from his line of questioning. An air of darkness swirled behind his green eyes as he smirked in amusement to her. "Perhaps I am seeking her as well. Perhaps in the same way that leads you into her residence in the cover of night. After all," he mused before he took another drink of wine. "I have some of my own questions. And only she holds the answers."

"Really."

She made it a statement, not a question, and her contempt was obvious.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that. She does so very much love it when she's the center of attention.  That whole 'woe-is-me, nobody likes me thing'? Please."

Her lip curled of its' own accord as she raised her glass and drained another measure of wine.

"I suppose that begs the question that if you're looking for her, why it is you're found here? Surely you know as well as I that she has not been to Hammerfall in many days."

Sardonix quirked an eyebrow at her frankness, chuckling softly as their game of words drew to a close. He obliged, no longer skirting the issue. "Mmm, I am ever the dutiful pyromancer of Lionsbane, Miss Dawnsong. One must keep up appearances even when the leaders stray from the base of operations. I would not get very far if I were to only be an obedient little recruit when Jasolei or Malric are in Hammerfall."

She snorted as he continued to make pretenses to something he was not, but the revealing of his profession spoke for him.

"Ah, you're one of those." She said with distaste in reference to those of magic schooling. "Figured as much."

Swilling the remainder of her wine around in her glass, she looked up to him. "But tell me, just how well is being an obedient little lap dog working out for you?" She grinned, raising her glass to him in a toast before draining the final mouthful.

"Afraid she holds no love for me. Thus little trust. I have my work cut out for me here." His focus narrowed in on Sabrielle's eyes once more as her tone dripped with disdain for his profession. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he turned his attention to his glass of wine. "One 'of those,' Miss Dawnsong?"

"Trust? Jasolei? Now you're trying to make me laugh." She hitched an eyebrow and ran her tongue over her teeth as she set the glass back on the table, settling back into the chair with her hands in her lap to answer his question.

"Caster. Mana-user. Mage. Priest. Warlock." She shrugged a shoulder. "Spell-flinger. Whatever you want to call yourself."

"Pyromancer. I divine utilizing flames. Or does your disdain for all schools of magic run so deeply that even the art of divination is a bastardization of what you would deem to be 'true ability?'" He chuckled softly before taking a drink of wine. The man remained calm in the face of her bitterness towards casters of any sort, not allowing any of her words or her tone to shake his relaxed demeanor.

"When you don't use magic and you're treated with contempt no matter who you are, or what you do? Tit for tat, don't you think? Nobody pauses to ask the specifics of the unworthy. Just bestowing the same courtesies as are bestowed upon me."

"Besides," she continued after a moment. "If I were you? I'd be more offended by the riff-raff that gets about calling themselves Pyromancers, than be worried about what those of us without 'talent' think of you. Magi are all about being the biggest phoenix in the playground, right?"

"I hold no concern regarding your thoughts on myself or my field of study. Caster or no, we all play a part in this game. I am sure you have skills that I could never hope to possess."

He scoffed slightly at her mention of other so-called pyromancers. "Pyromancer is nothing but a pretty name to some. To me it is a way of life. That alone helps me to rise above the 'riff-raff.' Perhaps not in other's eyes, but I have already stated how little I care of what people may think of me or my profession." He shrugged nonchalantly, sipping at his wine.

"I never said you cared what anyone thought. You asked me of the foundation of my disdain, I simply explained. You're the one who brought up 'true ability', not me. I never said you weren't capable, nor did I say you were no more capable than another."