He looked at her over the yellowed parchment he was holding, the cold, verdant orbs filled with judgement. That was no surprise, of course. Golden colours adorned the robe that was hidden under scarlet drape worn on his shoulder. His very existance was an unbearable contrast between himself and the apprentice clad in black, not only given their differences in appearance, but also essence. There was a suffocating sense of warmth embracing the Dawn Priest named Emberray, one that the last month had taught Celysiel to loathe more than all else. It reminded her of Dawnstones and their mistress. Of torment that she wished to forget.
"Do you understand why you are here, Miss Ashfury?" he asked, finally to lower the parchment. His features were freshly shaven, sporting only the goatee that was a fashion statement for several males of Quel'thalas. Bronze strands were pulled back, kept in a strict ponytail that only served to bring out his strict features, the lack of approval they held for the willowy, pale elf standing in front of him.
There was no vocal answer to his question, naturally, since Celysiel knew better than that. Obediently, the young elf offered a nod and kept her wide eyes to those of the Dawn Priest. He did not seem pleased with that, though never did he demand that her head was lowered in humble respect, for that would quite likely make him no different to the Magistrix that had only days ago paid for her crimes. Now standing in the maw of the Sunfury Spire, they both had to maintain a balance, even if they were opposites. They were also Sin'dorei.
Emberray looked down to his parchment for once more with a frown, before nodding. The yellowed papers were folded in the white glove in a cylinder which soon came to sharply aim at his own palm. "Very well. Then let me make a few things clear to you."
Alarm rang in the apprentice's mind only at the sound of these words, for they had always been heralds of trouble. Her gaze diverted from the priest to look around, perhaps expecting a saviour, though no one would come. Far from the den of priesthood they could have been, though the dark halls in which they had walked seemed abandoned. The corridor at which they stood was showered in arcane light, hosting an array of locked doors. Some bore plaquettes with the inscription of a name etched on the metal; all had one thing in common, the title. The chambers behind were the personal areas of Magisters in the Spire, where research and scheming alike would often take place. As for the doors themselves, they were wooden and large, if only to cater to their owners' ego even more than reign over the Kingdom would. It was curious, however, that some of the doors had been stripped from their plaquettes which had been replaced by an array of boxes by each threshold. Or, perhaps, not entirely curious.
It was by one of these doors, where the honour of being named and owned had been replaced by empty, wooden crates that the Dawn Priest had led Celysiel and held her for the speech he aimed to deliver. Not a single soul would wander to save her. She was at the man's mercy.
He gestured towards the door rather curtly, the scroll in his hand colliding against the wood to the point that it crunched and caved. That did not bother him. Emerray's chin rose, his stare down at the apprentice remaining one of disapproval. "The Sunfury Spire has banished the treacherous among us, those whose greed was greater than their care for our people, the Sunwell. Thus all memory of them must be extinguished."
A pause was made for the priest to inhale deeply. Darkness was carried in his strict features, a sweet irony since it was the Light that would always come to his call. Of course, it would not be the first time for one wielding the holy magic to fall into rage. Like every living being, they were entitled to such emotion; others among them had done far worse for far too little. "Their offices are to be emptied and their research locked away. You will see to their possessions being placed in these crates and we will handle the rest. You are absolutely forbidden to remove anything from the collections you may find. Do you understand?"
She did and Emberray was assured with a nod, luckily unaware of the thoughts and questioning flourishing in the youth's mind. Alas, the stakes were high and questioning the individual to whom she had been assigned in order to carry out her obligatory service to the Spire for three days, as the letter of summoning and conduct stated, would be unwise. At least, her confirmation seemed to put the man to ease, for he inhaled deeply and collected the folded parchment back to both hands.
"You may begin."
"Dawn Priest Emberray?" the girl finally dared ask just as her superior had begun to step away. The utter irritation with which he turned to her reminded Celysiel of the Overseer, whom she had learnt never to stop as he was about to depart. Emberray, however, could not birth the same degree of fear as Lord Sunshard, nor did she care enough not to entertain herself with his agitation. "What was the name of the Magister, or Magistrix to whom the office belonged?"
"That matters no more, Miss Ashfury." the Lightwielder pointed out through gritted teeth, though somehow still calm enough to deal with the young elf. "These elves are banished. Stripped from their titles. Stripped from the right to even be called elves, even. Spawns of the Void is all they are and their name will never be mentioned again, for they are destined to wither in the darkness and contempt that they chose for themselves. Do you understand that, Miss Ashfury?"
Those were words familiar to the apprentice, perhaps all too well. She nodded for once more wordlessly, while the twitching of her left fingers called for the pointless search of something that was no longer hanging from her neck. Alone she was to face the scrutinity of the priest, his silent fury. Did he hate the burning eyes that bore the miasma of fel? Did he believe that the snow-white skin and hair of the apprentice meant the Sun had long forsaken her, that even in appearance she had more in common with their exiled kin than her own people? It would be a new kind of insult, but it never left Emerray's lips. He merely returned the nod and spoke sharply.
"Get to work."
The apprentice obeyed, well aware of her place. If in her attempt to life one of the wooden crates, she belived them to be light, she was mistaken. The struggle to lift one, of course, was little, though with both hands occupied, it was difficult to open the nameless Magister's door. Her back pushed against it while her elbow lowered the knob, granting her entrance. In a hurry, the girl then closed the door, never liking a single one open behind her. It made her feel exposed.
A vast chamber greeted her, one that surprisingly failed to meet any expectations of those set. Given how the former owner of the office was marked a traitor, serving among the Ren'dorei, it would only be fitting if the room had been sinking into darkness, dark drapes of black shut to block out all sunlight and carvings on the walls, the floors giving a ritualistic atmosphere, ominous warnings against the man or woman to have once been in possession of all that was included in the chamber. That could not have been further from the truth, one that was utterly disappointed. For not only was the chamber not one to have sprouted out of eldritch tales and a dark imagination, but it held magnitude and order that even Theradrim Bloodthorn would envy.
The first thing that one would quickly notice upon entering was the ivory rays, very delicately filtered by the crimson glass of the wall to the left, the majority of which served as a tall window with intricate designs of the elven phoenix, an honour to the fallen and the living alike. The soft radiance gave light to the impressive woodwork of the walls, before a cherry tapestry of velvet ascended towards the ceiling. The material to be dominant in the exiled elf's former chamber was mahogany, polished, as if it was new. It was what created the endless shelves hanging on the circular walls in order to host what seemed to be hundreds of books, or even the wide desk and chair behind it, decorated with a cardinal cushion. If there was any space on the walls, spared from books, that would be for the one at the centre, where something was hanging, tall and wide. Its identity remained unknown, hidden carefully behind thick, black cloth.
For some reason, it drew her close. The wooden crate slid from her grasp to meet the stone floor with a gentle thud. She had no reason to believe that the former Magister or Magistrix would share her fears of reflections, but what else could it be? It made Celysiel feel a certain warmth inside, a desire. As if in that moment, even with her locket so far away, she was not feeling alone. The apprentice walked past the lavish desk in the centre of the room to make her way towards the wall. Soon enough, slender, gloved fingers embraced the velvet cloth. For a moment, she hesitated, but ultimately pulled the veil.
On the other side stood not a mirror, but a portrait. Even if the disappointment Celysiel felt was great, the sting was soon replaced as her eyes were found looking at the figure on the large canvas eagerly. He was handsome, not in the same way as a strong male forged in the heat of battle, with great physical prowess to boast, as well as charming features, but in a more sophisticated manner. The stranger was tall and lean, standing proudly on the maroon background. His features were pale, though possessing a healthy, peachy hue, like most Sin'dorei. Short, auburn hair were neatly combed on the top of his head, connecting with the carefully trimmed beard that covered his features. He was dressed in a rich, yet simple attire, wearing a sapphire blue coat over a brown vest, white shirt and grey pants instead of the common robes of a mage. A pair of piercing eyes stared down at Celysiel, eyes from which she could not take her own, for they were holding something familiar. Eyes that, as the inspcription on the wooden frame informed her, belonged to Magister Maridren Ravenfall.
Eyes that were no longer green. Nor was his skin pale with that healthy tan, or his hair auburn. Whoever that man had been among the Blood Elves, he was no more. Tentatively, however, the apprentice reached for the figure on the canvas, connecting her hand with the dead surface. He was a traitor and death was what he deserved, for placing himself by the Alliance's side, for compromising the Sunwell, for being the reason that those left behind had faced injustice in the hands of individuals such as Magistrix Whitestep. But he was free at the same time, relishing a freedom Celysiel could not taste. He was not bound by law, not forced to live without the Heart of his heart.
Stepping back, the youth nearly despised herself for realising that she was suddenly not willing to do the task she was forced to carry out. All that she desired was stare at the forlorn painting of the disgraced Magister who had been banished from his own land. Who was he and what knowledge could he hold? That was an answer that the books surrounding her would surely answer if only he had not been prudent enough to hide the research which had seen to his exile. Still, they would have to suffice. Was it not what she was meant to do, anyway? Store them away? A glimpse would not hurt, would it?
With a last glance to the portrait, now exposed to cast its gaze down to the apprentice and the chamber where its owner once stood proud, Celysiel made her way to the desk with haste. Shivering hands started going through the tomes already resting on the mahogany surface, in an order that would be a shame to undo. Her first findings regarded the arcane, confirming her suspicions that Magister Ravenfall had indeed been an arcanist. They were rather advanced studies as it seemed, which a more experienced mind would have recognized as divination, even if it was not the mind that they concerned, but the skies.
"You had been looking for the truth, had you not, my Lord?" Celysiel asked the portrait, without turning to look at it. Memory stirred, of a a starlit sky pointed from a ship for the Summoner to see, the enchanted willow under which she and Thaelen stood that night in Suramar. And then more, far more. The dark gaze of the vastness looking down at a piece of the planetary orbit drifting aroung Argus' shattered core, untainted by fel. The swirls and grasp of the darkness which she had been observing by Surveyor Blackwood's side the first night that he offered to show her the way. The Great Dark Beyond and all that lay beyond it.
It had suddenly become an encouraging finding, this last tome that the banished arcanist had most likely gone through. The more the girl went through the former Magister's belongings, the more such books became a common occurance. They had no direct mentions towards the Void and its manifestations, for as it had been confirmed in a conversation a long time ago, such knowledge was hardly ever hidden in pages, though if the pieces of the puzzle surrounding the arcane studies and those of history were placed together, one could tell what Magister Ravenfall was truly interested in. Soon enough, Celysiel found herself removing her journal from her belt and placing it on the desk, taking notes of useful knowledge found in the tomes. In some fortunate cases, pieces of paper would be found among the pages. They more than often carried complex drawings, what appeared to be of runic nature, produced in elegant handwriting. Certain they would not be missed, the apprentice slid these parchments from the tomes where they were originally found to her journal, hiding them carefully.
Such was the nature of her morning, withering towards the afternoon to only worsen the headache that the apprentice was forced to bear, though was eagerly set aside for purposes of research. Absolutely no progress had been made in her original task, but her journal was now heavy with mentions of creatures from the dark, be it monstrosities from below, the slumbering shoggoth that threatened Azeroth's existance, or intelligent beings named the Ethereals. It was one day's work. Two more would follow.
It was hours later that Celysiel managed to collect her journal carefully and seal it to her belt, in hopes of not dropping the borrowed notes that were contained within. For now, a visit to Telthion waited, one that was meant to happen the previous night, as it had been decided in drunken stupor. Just as she lingered towards the door, about to head into the corridor where Dawn Priest Emberray had originally abandoned her, a last glance was afforded to the portrait on the wall. Cold eyes on the canvas met the bright ones of the girl, a stern expression against an innocent one.
She was being taught by the echoes of a ghost left behind with the physical evidence left behind in his forgotten chamber of the Sunfury Spire. Where was he? Who was he? A traitor, Celysiel forced herself to believe. The fragments of his knowledge which she could access would be hers, but some other things were better if entirely unknown.
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