Phadrene's blog

Phadrene sighed happily, sipping her tea by the hearth. The arcane fire burned merrily in its magical container, giving out warmth and light while being completely harmless and therefore of no danger to the thousands of manuscripts, tomes, and scrolls which filled the Magister’s study from top to bottom.  Behind her, a newer sound - the faint, gentle sound of running water - babbled soothingly.  She grinned behind her teacup.  She had requested a Winter Veil tree to decorate, and he had obliged; not only that, but at her additional request that the tree remain alive, he had invented and set-up a mechanism by which the potted evergreen would be sustained by a water-conjuring apparatus. All this he had done with nary a complaint, even though she knew he very much disliked being distracted from his work.

If crimson could be considered a calming color, the study of Magister Ranidaris Sorin'von would embody such.

Everything is red here.  The carpet, the veils and the bed they surround, the glass of the windows…

The color invades my senses and I half-lid my eyes, musing associations.

The color of the elite.

The color of blood. 

The color of war. 

The color of wine.

The color of fire. 

The color of roses.

The color of passion.

Phadrene mounted up, the hooves of her snowy white talbuk clomping in rythmic time as she ambled away from the fountain, with him standing next to it, in the Exchange.

Holding the reins in one hand, she gently thumbed the marble in her other hand.  It was heavy and smooth, swirling with a mesmerizing vortex of energy.

The rich azure color seemed to suit the cool temperature which emanated from it, though it was not uncomfortable to the touch.  Absently, she wondered if that was because he considered Frost his strongest magical affinity.

She reined in her mount, pausing as she bit her lip, remembering his words to her.

This contains my essence, highly concentrated.

She gazed at the marble, smiling shyly.  Such a secretive and strong personality he had...summarized in this tiny thing. 

Concentrated, indeed.

Phadrene looked up from her reading, rubbing her eyes and reaching for her tea.  The afternoon was quickly winding down toward evening.  Spring was in the air indeed, as evidenced by the chorus of birdsong filtering in through the windows of her Silvermoon apartment.  The veils swayed gently in the fragrant breeze, and the Bishop’s attention was hooked by their sinuous movements as her attention drifted.  Everything seemed sharper, louder, more colorful today…

Tomes lay scattered across her desk and white leather ottoman: The History of the Demon Hunters, Comparative Religions of Azeroth, Myths and Symbolism of the Tribal Peoples, Philosophical Exploration of Healing Mechanisms, and, the most recent, Basic Theory of the Arcane.  She scanned the collection and rubbed her temples.  A slight headache had plagued her all day, since...

Phadrene slowly opened her eyes as she finished praying at the altar just outside of Shattrath City.  The sun shimmered through the trees of Terrokar Forest and the day held an edge of promise which was almost palpable.

A gentle smile graced her face as she rose and walked through the tunnel into the City, the Sha'tar guardians nodding in respect as she passed. 

Her minded wandered a bit as she padded into the Sanctuary.  She felt less alone than she had in a long while.  She had begun an aquaintance with two very interesting individuals.  One whom she had yet to meet, and another who shared his tale of woe and redemption with her.  The will of these Sin'dorei to persevere in the face of despair and disillusionment was bolstering to the soul.

In a private apartment in Silvermoon City.

Phadrene smiled gently to her visitor as he stared at her, their time together clearly drawing to a close.

He had provided her with more specific information on the recent goings-on in Silvermoon City, and their alarming consequences.  Despite his penchant for making his reports while bereft of expression, seemingly bored with even the most startling of events, there was a dangerously cold glint to his gaze as he imparted this particular information.

She didn’t like the place the moment the darkness invaded her sight and she felt as though everything, even the very air she breathed, was choked in ash. 

Phadrene had ventured to Shadowmoon Valley at last, having never set foot in this ravaged land previously.  But, one thing had led to another, and she found herself here on a mission to discover a truth hinted at amongst the Scryers of Shattrath, which she had become privy to quite by accident during the Midsummer Festival, when drink and merriment loosened even the tightest tongues.

The operative in Shadowmoon Village informed her of a Scryer settlement far to the East, known as the Sanctum of the Stars.  It as there where she would need to base her operations to discover the reality of the rumor that a Prince clandestinely, but desperately, required aid. 

Phadrene paced the edge of Stillwhisper Pond, enjoying a balmy Eversong evening.  Her cerulean and gold robes rustled softly as she walked and her pale blonde tresses were gathered away from her sunkissed face, framing them in an unusually unruly but attractive way.  Her expression was serene, but her eyes betrayed a bit of the unrest she felt as she sought the comfort of nature.