Post by darvanas on Apr 8, 2015 17:37:12 GMT -5
Silvermoon.
The air of the magnificent city was still, though charged with the now-familiar backdrop of magic to its regular inhabitants. Days came and went with barely a hint at what news had been brought forth from the happenings in the southern territories of the Three Kingdoms; the ramifications of the “Iron Horde” a fanciful discussion in the gilded halls of the Elven capital, with little cause for anything beyond tipsy pillow-talk amongst highblood dilettantes. The sun set, the moon rearing its silvery head to cloak the land in its twilight touch, before giving way to the blessed sun once more. There was little concern, or even empathy towards the plight of the Horde ...
...though one group seemed ready to break the chains of monotony, so surrounded by his peers.
A curious ear bent towards the discussion would have heard many voices, speaking in turn in the delicate dance of political diatribe. One would speak, another would raise issue before giving way to another whom brought forth appropriate evidence to counter the matter, before continuing on in the same cycle. Some would raise their voices, yet for the most part the discussion was pleasantly temperate, even if the inference was something akin to veiled threats and half-earnest promises.
“The Iron Horde is of no concern to Silvermoon, let alone the Horde of Azeroth. Let the heroes do what they will.” Said one.
“Apathy is little reason to be ill prepared. Such behaviour has cost us dearly in the past.” Warned another.
“Ah, but wasted resources are best left to the lesser folk. We should fortify our own holdings first...”
“ ... and leave the rest to the Horde? Or the Alliance?” Said one Elf, a female, with little disgust hidden in her voice at the mention of the other Azerothian faction. Such a mention of the unified enemy of the Elves seemed enough, at the present time, to collectively silence the gathering in a desire to ponder further.
The room in which they spoke in was opulent, to say the least; silk curtains gilded in gold thread and delicate perfume, cushions and pillows for the weary to rest their feet scattered about the room alongside equally gold-wrought chairs and stools. Servant Elves moving quickly and efficiently throughout their tasks serving wine and small morsels of food to the collective, nary stopping to snoop, for fear and understanding of the consequences of intruding on the elite of the sin’dorei ruling parties.
These were Magisters and House Lords; the velvet fists of the City of Silver.
“I see little recourse but to conglomerate what we already hold; capitalize on matters when the threat has alleviated, leave the others to their tasks whilst we maneuver our own agents in striking distance.” Said a male, sipping at a half-full wine glass.
“Patience leaves the cautious little to gain and too much to lose, Lord. Such a gambit risks leaving spoils of this little war to our brothers and sisters that have ... decided elsewhere shall their interests lie.” The final portion of that comment seemed almost forced; venom held back but with a desire to loose it, and no understanding of how or to whom.
“Well...I have come to this gathering with a hand half open.” The female from before mused, smiling delicately as she looked towards a corner of the decadent meeting room. From that corner, slipping quietly into the open candle and mage-light of the room was an Elf of little distinguishing prestigue; a small, soft smile of reverence upon his lips, his head respectfully bowed as he acknowledged his benefactor. Garbed in simple reds and golds, he could have passed as a servant that had come to attend them in a slightly-more opulent robe than the others. “I open my hand fully now, to reveal another to our discussion.”
“Hn. And who is this, then? When asked of this man’s presence you gave your consent for his presence but not your consent to inquire.” To this, the female smiled a touch wider, turning to tip her chin downward in a subtle display of permission to the newcomer. At this, a hand held itself to his chest before speaking; honeyed words as calm as an undisturbed pond.
“I am but a humble benefactor of my Lady, my Lord. An elf with knowledge involving the matters of both the struggles of the Dark Portal and our erstwhile kin that will fight for plunder, not for patronage.” A long, slow breath was taken – almost calculated – before continuing. “You all have grand, poignant points – as would befit any that hold such esteem within the ruling elite of our fair people. To strike too soon and too blatantly wastes resources we desperately need. To wait will leave us with empty hands and jealous hearts. To plan too carefully will leave us open, to not plan properly will leave us exposed.”
The newcomer had piqued the interest of the gathered political powerhouses, each watching with an almost amused cadence as their target of interest began a slow circular pace around their collective group.
“If I may be so horrifically bold to state as such, however ... you are missing the point entire.”
“And you think yourself better than us, boy.”
“Nothing of the sort, my Lord. I think myself quite lesser of those that guide the future of our great city.” The newcomer’s smile softened, concern flashing in his features, as if he feared the disappointment of a parental figure. “However, I speak not only for myself, but for my Lady in uttering this; I am here because you are at an impasse. I believe myself capable of leading you from this crossroad onto a path that will leave you all quite content, empowered ... wealthy.” For some, that seemed enough; the eternal avarice of wealth gleaming in their hearts. For others, the intrigue merely deepened.
“And what would you ask, if we were to take your Lady’s patronage at face value and lean our ear to your suggestions?” A return of that soft, almost tender smile as the newcomer replied with a small bow at his waist.
“Nothing; I ask of nothing for myself – I speak out of concern for our people, and your city. The only request I would make would be of your assent to the forthcoming considerations. Acceptance and unity with due agreement – a unified front. Not for me, not for my Lady, but for us all, so that all gathered here may benefit from the spoils and a war that you have exploited.” The interest deepened as the more staunch members of the assembly slowly worked the idea through their heads. The newcomer had stopped his pacing, taking his place slightly behind the woman that had brought him to this gathering once more.
“I think I speak for us all, boy, when I say that you have caught our ear. Your words are promising, but little else; there is no bite to your promises.”
“Oh, I promise, my Lord. I bite as hard as I bark.” A flash of purpose in the Elf's eyes was enough to elicit a snort of amusement from the elder Magister.
“Hah! Very good. You have my attention, lest you lose my interest in your coming discussions. What say you?” Once more, a unified nod of approval from the gathered folk of the meeting, and a devilishly small smile of pleasure at the female that had introduced her guest. Prestige bought at the hands of a supplicant; for her, it was a prize to be savoured. And savour she did, as a tender hand was placed upon the newcomer’s shoulder.
“Now, Darvanas ... tell them what you would do with the Highguard.”
Only then did his smile widen.
The air of the magnificent city was still, though charged with the now-familiar backdrop of magic to its regular inhabitants. Days came and went with barely a hint at what news had been brought forth from the happenings in the southern territories of the Three Kingdoms; the ramifications of the “Iron Horde” a fanciful discussion in the gilded halls of the Elven capital, with little cause for anything beyond tipsy pillow-talk amongst highblood dilettantes. The sun set, the moon rearing its silvery head to cloak the land in its twilight touch, before giving way to the blessed sun once more. There was little concern, or even empathy towards the plight of the Horde ...
...though one group seemed ready to break the chains of monotony, so surrounded by his peers.
A curious ear bent towards the discussion would have heard many voices, speaking in turn in the delicate dance of political diatribe. One would speak, another would raise issue before giving way to another whom brought forth appropriate evidence to counter the matter, before continuing on in the same cycle. Some would raise their voices, yet for the most part the discussion was pleasantly temperate, even if the inference was something akin to veiled threats and half-earnest promises.
“The Iron Horde is of no concern to Silvermoon, let alone the Horde of Azeroth. Let the heroes do what they will.” Said one.
“Apathy is little reason to be ill prepared. Such behaviour has cost us dearly in the past.” Warned another.
“Ah, but wasted resources are best left to the lesser folk. We should fortify our own holdings first...”
“ ... and leave the rest to the Horde? Or the Alliance?” Said one Elf, a female, with little disgust hidden in her voice at the mention of the other Azerothian faction. Such a mention of the unified enemy of the Elves seemed enough, at the present time, to collectively silence the gathering in a desire to ponder further.
The room in which they spoke in was opulent, to say the least; silk curtains gilded in gold thread and delicate perfume, cushions and pillows for the weary to rest their feet scattered about the room alongside equally gold-wrought chairs and stools. Servant Elves moving quickly and efficiently throughout their tasks serving wine and small morsels of food to the collective, nary stopping to snoop, for fear and understanding of the consequences of intruding on the elite of the sin’dorei ruling parties.
These were Magisters and House Lords; the velvet fists of the City of Silver.
“I see little recourse but to conglomerate what we already hold; capitalize on matters when the threat has alleviated, leave the others to their tasks whilst we maneuver our own agents in striking distance.” Said a male, sipping at a half-full wine glass.
“Patience leaves the cautious little to gain and too much to lose, Lord. Such a gambit risks leaving spoils of this little war to our brothers and sisters that have ... decided elsewhere shall their interests lie.” The final portion of that comment seemed almost forced; venom held back but with a desire to loose it, and no understanding of how or to whom.
“Well...I have come to this gathering with a hand half open.” The female from before mused, smiling delicately as she looked towards a corner of the decadent meeting room. From that corner, slipping quietly into the open candle and mage-light of the room was an Elf of little distinguishing prestigue; a small, soft smile of reverence upon his lips, his head respectfully bowed as he acknowledged his benefactor. Garbed in simple reds and golds, he could have passed as a servant that had come to attend them in a slightly-more opulent robe than the others. “I open my hand fully now, to reveal another to our discussion.”
“Hn. And who is this, then? When asked of this man’s presence you gave your consent for his presence but not your consent to inquire.” To this, the female smiled a touch wider, turning to tip her chin downward in a subtle display of permission to the newcomer. At this, a hand held itself to his chest before speaking; honeyed words as calm as an undisturbed pond.
“I am but a humble benefactor of my Lady, my Lord. An elf with knowledge involving the matters of both the struggles of the Dark Portal and our erstwhile kin that will fight for plunder, not for patronage.” A long, slow breath was taken – almost calculated – before continuing. “You all have grand, poignant points – as would befit any that hold such esteem within the ruling elite of our fair people. To strike too soon and too blatantly wastes resources we desperately need. To wait will leave us with empty hands and jealous hearts. To plan too carefully will leave us open, to not plan properly will leave us exposed.”
The newcomer had piqued the interest of the gathered political powerhouses, each watching with an almost amused cadence as their target of interest began a slow circular pace around their collective group.
“If I may be so horrifically bold to state as such, however ... you are missing the point entire.”
“And you think yourself better than us, boy.”
“Nothing of the sort, my Lord. I think myself quite lesser of those that guide the future of our great city.” The newcomer’s smile softened, concern flashing in his features, as if he feared the disappointment of a parental figure. “However, I speak not only for myself, but for my Lady in uttering this; I am here because you are at an impasse. I believe myself capable of leading you from this crossroad onto a path that will leave you all quite content, empowered ... wealthy.” For some, that seemed enough; the eternal avarice of wealth gleaming in their hearts. For others, the intrigue merely deepened.
“And what would you ask, if we were to take your Lady’s patronage at face value and lean our ear to your suggestions?” A return of that soft, almost tender smile as the newcomer replied with a small bow at his waist.
“Nothing; I ask of nothing for myself – I speak out of concern for our people, and your city. The only request I would make would be of your assent to the forthcoming considerations. Acceptance and unity with due agreement – a unified front. Not for me, not for my Lady, but for us all, so that all gathered here may benefit from the spoils and a war that you have exploited.” The interest deepened as the more staunch members of the assembly slowly worked the idea through their heads. The newcomer had stopped his pacing, taking his place slightly behind the woman that had brought him to this gathering once more.
“I think I speak for us all, boy, when I say that you have caught our ear. Your words are promising, but little else; there is no bite to your promises.”
“Oh, I promise, my Lord. I bite as hard as I bark.” A flash of purpose in the Elf's eyes was enough to elicit a snort of amusement from the elder Magister.
“Hah! Very good. You have my attention, lest you lose my interest in your coming discussions. What say you?” Once more, a unified nod of approval from the gathered folk of the meeting, and a devilishly small smile of pleasure at the female that had introduced her guest. Prestige bought at the hands of a supplicant; for her, it was a prize to be savoured. And savour she did, as a tender hand was placed upon the newcomer’s shoulder.
“Now, Darvanas ... tell them what you would do with the Highguard.”
Only then did his smile widen.
