A month ago...
Cynrick strolls through my doors, his massive frame filling my gaze in familiar shadow. I peer at him searchingly. “Cynrick?” He drops a book down at my desk. It is some dusty tome that natters on about Trollish crap that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I reach across to flip it open indulgently. It is completely in trollish.
“Did you want me to read you a bedtime story, Cynrick?” I cannot help but smile at his annoyed expression.
“This is what she was reading in the library,” he mumbles around the perpetual cigarette that dangles from his mouth. I can feel my brow arching in response to the statement. I peer at the title, it is a jumbled language that is clearly not known to me.
“Who, Gabby?” I can feel my eyes bulge slightly, concern and humor mixing at the contents of the book.
There were voices, hushed and panicked. One stood out clearly, the gruff unmistakable voice of the old druid Artaios, and then suddenly the voices separated and she could hear the soft intones of the shaman Aloaki. Their words seemed to make little sense to her, her mind not yet accustomed to reasoning. She could feel the cold hard marble beneath her limbs and she willed herself to open her eyes. With a wild flutter her gaze slid open and she could make out the group standing before her. Dizziness coupled with disbelief slammed into her suddenly, and with that the onslaught of pain was immediate. Suddenly raw, the pain crippled her body as she became aware that she was something beyond thought, her broken body suddenly inflamed by her slowly awakening subconscious.
Negal flexed his fingers around the truncheon. He thought that if he listened hard enough, he could almost still hear the necrolyte's screams. Gul'dan had slaughtered them mercilessly.
"So, how is the new body?"
Artisania Marveloso was surprised by the troll.
As she staggered back at the failure of her fire ward, the heat of her opponent's spell a hot blast across her face, she saw the purple-haired youth come running forward with blades drawn, slicing with ease and precision across the red robes of the Sin'dorei. The Blood Elf mage crumpled to the grass, the troll girl sneering over him before turning fierce red eyes on Artisania.
"Da fuck joo doin'?"
Artisania Marveloso did not know what to think.
Seldom did such stillness come to her mind, a binding of all decision pulled one way by reason, another by compassion, and many more by the various emotions flitting through her heart. She sat on a bench with her elbows on her knees – very unladylike – a book in her hands not far from her sharp nose. Slowly, she turned the pages, reading over the old text. It told her nothing she did not already know.
Closing the dusty tome with a ensuing cloud of aged parchment, Artisania sighed. With a stretch of her back she peered around the quiet Undercity library. She could not believe she had stayed in the dreadful town so long, but she knew Silvermoon would no longer hold books such as these; books that recorded the old history of her people, of the coming of the Quel'Dorei to the Northern forests.