The notice said "The Traitor Jaina Proudmoore" and it was plastered upon the walls of Stormwind, looking to the more traveled markets and commons. It's script was simple, to the point, calling for a meeting but a few days hence, to censure the lady of Theramore Keep. It was proclaimed by one Corporal Breeor, and attracted the attention of a certain gnome warlock and her best blue friend.“I know … it’s not much.
“A child’s play craft, from happier times, when the hardest decisions were how formal a place to set for the afternoon tea or if Miss Disneri might wish one acorn or two … and for you, remembering not honey or sugar but jam.”
The gnome lass sat upon the cobbles of Stormwind, her dark robes pooled about her, cloaking her in the deepest shades of gray and black. Long ago this fel garb stopped being pristine, no longer fine. Instead they now bore the harsh battering and disturbing stains betraying passage deep into titan halls. What color splashed her this late afternoon came from the wildflowers in her lap. Argent peaceblooms, the deep crimsons of Talandra’s Rose, the sparkle of mana wrought thistles found in the forgotten ramparts above Shattrath.
Beneath the silent gaze of her eldest companion, slender fingers slowly wove the bright flowers together, taking quiet care, teeth catching upon her lower lip as she concentrated. Cobalt and sable with sharp talons forged of ancient magic, the big Voidwalker shifted, his bracers shimmering as they caught the light sifting down past the half timbered buildings, sneaking into her quiet corner.. Protectively he shadowed the gentle warlock, skittish, as if he could feel the unacknowledged darkness hidden within this keep town.
“It’s the path of least effort, Mezzy …
“And that makes it a powerful seduction, powerful enough to send one’s heart racing, to heat blood and temper far past any manner of reason …
“Be it within the halls of Lordaeron or within a city tavern.
“It’ s like a castle in the sand …”
There was a moment of silence, as red blossoms were set in their broad circle, accenting the boughs of green which loop in a simple interlaced ring.
“Small buckets and a little shovel, the pat of hands upon damp sand at the surf’s very edge, and if one works, sets their heart into it, come the end of the day a tall and wondrous castle can be set against the beach, with ramparts as proud as those which guard Ironforge, as pretty as the temples in Darnassus, as tall and elegant as the spires of Dalaran.
“And yet …
“All it takes is a handful of heartbeats for a bully’s kick, for strong arm tactics without care or compassion, to shatter those beautifully sculpted towers until there is naught left but memories to be washed away by the roll of the tide.”
Slowly the young gnome turned her work over in her hands.
“It must be intoxicating, to stand over the fallen, to look down and say, I broke that. As if somehow might can determine what is right by the simple course of destruction.
“And yet, even as the sand is washed out to sea, the truth that something good stood, even for a little while, can’t ever be taken away.
“One can’t help but think that makes that manner of victory … empty.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s a castle of sand or one of stone, if it is a kingdom, or a single person.
“It doesn’t matter if it is by sword or words.”
“In the end Mezzy, it’ll never make it right.
Standing, she dusted off her robes, shaking out her deep russet pigtails
“Build a home upon a far away shore … forge a peace with one’s enemies.
“It’ s so easy to tear somethin’ down …
“It’ s so much harder to put somethin’ together.”
Carefully she hung her playful wreath upon the Stormwind signpost, the bright dance of color covering the notice of one Corporal Breeor.
Accidentally.
Perhaps.
“A child’s play craft, from happier times, when the hardest decisions were how formal a place to set for the afternoon tea or if Miss Disneri might wish one acorn or two … and for you, remembering not honey or sugar but jam.”
The gnome lass sat upon the cobbles of Stormwind, her dark robes pooled about her, cloaking her in the deepest shades of gray and black. Long ago this fel garb stopped being pristine, no longer fine. Instead they now bore the harsh battering and disturbing stains betraying passage deep into titan halls. What color splashed her this late afternoon came from the wildflowers in her lap. Argent peaceblooms, the deep crimsons of Talandra’s Rose, the sparkle of mana wrought thistles found in the forgotten ramparts above Shattrath.
Beneath the silent gaze of her eldest companion, slender fingers slowly wove the bright flowers together, taking quiet care, teeth catching upon her lower lip as she concentrated. Cobalt and sable with sharp talons forged of ancient magic, the big Voidwalker shifted, his bracers shimmering as they caught the light sifting down past the half timbered buildings, sneaking into her quiet corner.. Protectively he shadowed the gentle warlock, skittish, as if he could feel the unacknowledged darkness hidden within this keep town.
“It’
“And that makes it a powerful seduction, powerful enough to send one’s heart racing, to heat blood and temper far past any manner of reason …
“Be it within the halls of Lordaeron or within a city tavern.
“It’
There was a moment of silence, as red blossoms were set in their broad circle, accenting the boughs of green which loop in a simple interlaced ring.
“Small buckets and a little shovel, the pat of hands upon damp sand at the surf’s very edge, and if one works, sets their heart into it, come the end of the day a tall and wondrous castle can be set against the beach, with ramparts as proud as those which guard Ironforge, as pretty as the temples in Darnassus, as tall and elegant as the spires of Dalaran.
“And yet …
“All it takes is a handful of heartbeats for a bully’s kick, for strong arm tactics without care or compassion, to shatter those beautifully sculpted towers until there is naught left but memories to be washed away by the roll of the tide.”
Slowly the young gnome turned her work over in her hands.
“It must be intoxicating, to stand over the fallen, to look down and say, I broke that. As if somehow might can determine what is right by the simple course of destruction.
“And yet, even as the sand is washed out to sea, the truth that something good stood, even for a little while, can’t ever be taken away.
“One can’t help but think that makes that manner of victory … empty.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s a castle of sand or one of stone, if it is a kingdom, or a single person.
“It doesn’t matter if it is by sword or words.”
“In the end Mezzy, it’ll never make it right.
Standing, she dusted off her robes, shaking out her deep russet pigtails
“Build a home upon a far away shore … forge a peace with one’s enemies.
“It’
“It’
Carefully she hung her playful wreath upon the Stormwind signpost, the bright dance of color covering the notice of one Corporal Breeor.
Accidentally.
Perhaps.
