1/30/2024 0 Comments Picturesque boralusAs such, the bite of the evening winds, brisk and icy, was little more than a pleasant nip where others needed to bundle up, she could savour winter’s kiss. Some days she would simply take for her own respite it enabled a clear mind on busier nights and, more simply, it was relaxing.Ī byproduct of her chosen pursuit–the weaving of flame–meant that she rarely felt the cold any longer, particularly not when it was but the result of the changing seasons. It was an hour where typically she would already be among those other, eager arcanists, refining her craft, but Astalea found that some semblances of her elven nature–born from longevity–still held true. She was reclined on a chaise lounge and dressed lightly in a half-diaphanous robe. Not quite relaxing, but neither was it an irritant any longer. Though far from as lofty as some abodes in the city, Astalea’s parlour was high enough that the chatter beneath was little more than a vague buzz, too far to distinguish any particular sentences, let alone any words. The walkway below, gently lit by violet street lamps, was still traversed by a few late stragglers, attending to their final ventures of the evening. The frantic, hectic pace couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed to the culture of the kaldorei – but then again, wasn’t that precisely what drew her here? Eventually, however, she had come to appreciate it as a part of the city’s charm. Those first months were a trial, one she soldiered through by practical application her parlour had been soundproofed with enchantment, and a dimming lens cast over the balcony. Even compared to Boralus and Stormwind, Dalaran could be so noisy, particularly for elven hearing. She supposed it could only pertain to the breadth of their lifespan – to live such a fleeting time, of course they would feel beholden to fill every moment, whether it ought to be waking or not, with their interests and their craft.Īt first, night or day, she couldn’t sleep. Distant towers were alight with flashes of magic parlour balconies and workshop windows were aglow with the fruits of the city’s labours.Īstalea had been introduced to the term ‘workaholic’ some months ago, and it felt a quintessential trait of humanity and of magi in particular. The merchants had closed their shops, shut their doors, and returned home, alongside much of the city’s population, but the cacophony of colour never abated.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |