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'Explanation' - 3The burly draenei stared into the flames of the fireplace contemplatively. The elven firewine was warm in his stomach, and the thoughts that stirred in his mind were red-hot.
"You said you would explain to me, Scirius," he said in a deep and gruff voice, as the elf entered the study with a book in his hand. "Not just give me wine and cast me into a dark room in your castle."
With a smirk, the handsome elf laid a ribbon across the page and closed the book softly, setting it on the desk. "Tenaron, dearest brother..." he spoke in his silky-smooth voice, "Do you not find my accommodations to be suitable?"
"Do not bend my words, Scirius," Tenaron retorted tersely. "The wine is better than mother's. The furniture is exquisite. This castle is fit for a king..." He paused, sipping the last of his firewine, smacked his chapped lips, then turned toward the elf with a certain despair in his blue glowing eyes.
'Resurrection' - 2Thunder struck again; the grey clouds overhead were billowing with rage, and a coarse hail pelted down upon the shore. Not fazed in the slightest by the ill weather, a dark cloaked elven figure loomed atop the scaffolding of the abandoned Shadowfang Keep. His cold blue eyes watched the sea as they had only a few days beforehe was waiting.
Three more cloaked figures appeared behind him in a plume of black smoke. Before they could announce their arrival, the man's wind-bitten lips parted, setting free an icy breath. "You are late, Djannica."
"Y-yes, Yer Excellency, I" the woman at the front of the group attempted to explain.
"Silence, knave!" he retorted. "I do not wish to hear your excuses." He still gazed out over the ocean, never turning to look at the other arrivals. "Did you bring the materials?"
She strode silently to his side at the railing, peering out at the storm as well. "I did.
"A Drink" - 13Fizzlefart was waddling slower than usual. He had just finished his much anticipated interview with Lady Mynora Moryggan of the Shan Tel'dorei, and despite the fact that he had received all the information he needed and more, he was quite displeased.
There had always been some glimmer of hope deep within his mind that Berufeng would still be alive. He had been writing a biography of the man's life, and part of him had always wished (and assumed) that someday he'd get to meet the man that he had been studying for nearly three years. And then he found himself sitting on the stone steps of the moonwell in Stormwind, with Mynora's tale crushing his hopes.
The Blue Recluse was nearly empty, as always. Joachim Brenlow was polishing glasses with a ragglasses that more likely had grown dirty from dust than from use. He spotted the pink-bearded gnome the second he hobbled into the bar, and a grin crossed his fa
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