Sub-Tags: [Yvandrielle]
Symbolism. It's when you take something simple, like say- a chair, and realize that the significance of the object has nothing to do with its intended purpose. A chair is for sitting, one might say. But what happens when you take one and place it at the head of the table? Suddenly, that seating apparatus has a lot more meaning. The one sitting at the head of the table is more important than the others seated, and probably has the most responsibility. Then, what of a throne? An ornate setting dressed with gold, and silver- a cushion lined with the finest silk from the most distant isles. What does that say of the person sitting in it?
Sitting upon such a chair, in a manor far out in the woods of the eternal sun, was a youthful maiden. A throne sitting at the end of an empty hall, framed by tall pillars wrapped in leaves of solid gold. While not a child, she hardly looked an aged woman. Long, crimson curls frame her fair face, bright, platinum colored armor covering a taut, yet still feminine build. There were rings adorning her fingers, fancy insignia marking metal and labeling her status. Her expression, difficult to define with a single word, soon shifts as footsteps sound from the other end of the spacious hall.
A tall, golden haired, Sin'dorei man approaches the throne one step at a time. While the hall in itself was only so large, the pillars that lined it only made it seem longer. Sweat builds at his brow, gauntlets clenching as momentum pushes him forward. Eventually, he reaches his destination and takes to a knee.
"Y-Your grace." Adorned in the dark red and black armor of the Blood Knight Order, the man presses a closed fist to the tabard covering his breastplate. It was the tabard given to every knight-master of the order: colored the blackest of a darkest night, and marked with the scarlet visage of a phoenix.
The young woman seated at the chair remains still, speaking in a soft, yet firm tone. "You may rise. What news have you?" The man does as instructed, straightening himself.
"The conclave wishes to know-..., the order, wishes to know...- your intentions. Do you intend to take charge of the eighty-seventh, and finish what the grand-general-..., former, grand-general started?" The red-haired girl, who looks no more than a day older than twenty, rises, to the awe of the man before her. Emerald eyes peer at him searchingly as an eyebrow arches.
"How long have you been a knight-master?"
"Just over a year now, your grace."
"And how old are you?"
"Two hundred and twenty-four, your grace."
"Then why is it you stand before me and stammer?" Her eyes narrow, seeming to scrutinize his every expression, his every movement. The blood knight grows pale, seeming at a loss for words- until he musters the nerve to speak moments later.
"It's not everyday one gets to stand before a daughter of Erythis Firestorm." The girl shakes her head dismissively; she had known the answer before a word was spoken.
"I am not Erythis Firestorm. I am Lady Yvandrielle Firestorm, Duchess of Felo'Danil. If you are to tremble and stammer before me, do so because you see the intent in my eyes and hear the cries of the ones of I've slaughtered in my voice when I speak to you." The man stands there, astonished. He hadn't expected such words to come from such a beautiful girl, and for them to slice right through him. If she desired him to be intimidated, she had her wish.
"Lady Yvandrielle Firestorm. I apologize if my earlier words offended you, but I do need an answer. What shall I tell the council?"
"That as long as The Alliance remains in the East, we shall be Silvermoon's sword and shield. My mother may have abandoned her charge, but I shall repent for her sins."
"They were concerned-...truly, up until now, the grand-general was the only one who could have managed such an undertaking." He pauses, then adds, "I will tell them they have nothing to worry about."
"One more thing." Her razor-like voice cuts in right after his last uttered syllable. "If they find her, do let them know that it would be a shame to kill her. There are secrets hidden in her mind that would be a waste to eliminate."
"Yes, your grace."
"You are dismissed." The knight-master turns, his sheathed blade rattling against the back of his cloak-covered armor. He continues on down that lengthy hallway, Yvandrielle's gaze penetrating his mind. With each pillar he passed, he could see her eyes embedded in them, watching him vigilantly, like a hawk.
"They have no reason for concern." Yvandrielle Firestorm, having concluded her meeting, resumes her seated position upon the elegant throne. From a door at her left, a masked, leather-clad woman enters.
"Lady Yva, what would you have me do?"
"Send word to the retainers and the guard. We move at dawn."
"My lady, are you sure? You don't have to do this, you know. I'm sure that there is another who could-..., perhaps, Lady Veleris..."
"No." The femme-knight slams a metal covered fist against the arm of her chair. "I will succeed where my mother has failed. The name, 'Firestorm,' shall not be tarnished because of her war crimes. I will redeem the name of our house."
"Many do not think what your mother did was a crime." For a moment, there was silence. Yvandrielle Firestorm rises, treading a few strides down the hall and away from the other woman, who was clad in the dark leathers of a shadow-walker.
"And do you think that Prince Kael'thas should have been worshipped, instead of condemned for his actions?"
"I was not trying to start up a conversation of politics, my lady. Do forgive me. It's just that...- when it comes to our people, our kin, there is a fine line between brilliance and madness."
"Only those who are weak succumb to madness." Footsteps were heard again: weighted gauntlets against the stone floor of the hall. Yvandrielle, too, stares at the pillars as she walks down that seemingly neverending hallway. Though the eyes she saw were not her own, or those of any of her visitors, this evening. They were the eyes of her mother, blazing with the fel-corruption of demons.
A tall, golden haired, Sin'dorei man approaches the throne one step at a time. While the hall in itself was only so large, the pillars that lined it only made it seem longer. Sweat builds at his brow, gauntlets clenching as momentum pushes him forward. Eventually, he reaches his destination and takes to a knee.
"Y-Your grace." Adorned in the dark red and black armor of the Blood Knight Order, the man presses a closed fist to the tabard covering his breastplate. It was the tabard given to every knight-master of the order: colored the blackest of a darkest night, and marked with the scarlet visage of a phoenix.
The young woman seated at the chair remains still, speaking in a soft, yet firm tone. "You may rise. What news have you?" The man does as instructed, straightening himself.
"The conclave wishes to know-..., the order, wishes to know...- your intentions. Do you intend to take charge of the eighty-seventh, and finish what the grand-general-..., former, grand-general started?" The red-haired girl, who looks no more than a day older than twenty, rises, to the awe of the man before her. Emerald eyes peer at him searchingly as an eyebrow arches.
"How long have you been a knight-master?"
"Just over a year now, your grace."
"And how old are you?"
"Two hundred and twenty-four, your grace."
"Then why is it you stand before me and stammer?" Her eyes narrow, seeming to scrutinize his every expression, his every movement. The blood knight grows pale, seeming at a loss for words- until he musters the nerve to speak moments later.
"It's not everyday one gets to stand before a daughter of Erythis Firestorm." The girl shakes her head dismissively; she had known the answer before a word was spoken.
"I am not Erythis Firestorm. I am Lady Yvandrielle Firestorm, Duchess of Felo'Danil. If you are to tremble and stammer before me, do so because you see the intent in my eyes and hear the cries of the ones of I've slaughtered in my voice when I speak to you." The man stands there, astonished. He hadn't expected such words to come from such a beautiful girl, and for them to slice right through him. If she desired him to be intimidated, she had her wish.
"Lady Yvandrielle Firestorm. I apologize if my earlier words offended you, but I do need an answer. What shall I tell the council?"
"That as long as The Alliance remains in the East, we shall be Silvermoon's sword and shield. My mother may have abandoned her charge, but I shall repent for her sins."
"They were concerned-...truly, up until now, the grand-general was the only one who could have managed such an undertaking." He pauses, then adds, "I will tell them they have nothing to worry about."
"One more thing." Her razor-like voice cuts in right after his last uttered syllable. "If they find her, do let them know that it would be a shame to kill her. There are secrets hidden in her mind that would be a waste to eliminate."
"Yes, your grace."
"You are dismissed." The knight-master turns, his sheathed blade rattling against the back of his cloak-covered armor. He continues on down that lengthy hallway, Yvandrielle's gaze penetrating his mind. With each pillar he passed, he could see her eyes embedded in them, watching him vigilantly, like a hawk.
"They have no reason for concern." Yvandrielle Firestorm, having concluded her meeting, resumes her seated position upon the elegant throne. From a door at her left, a masked, leather-clad woman enters.
"Lady Yva, what would you have me do?"
"Send word to the retainers and the guard. We move at dawn."
"My lady, are you sure? You don't have to do this, you know. I'm sure that there is another who could-..., perhaps, Lady Veleris..."
"No." The femme-knight slams a metal covered fist against the arm of her chair. "I will succeed where my mother has failed. The name, 'Firestorm,' shall not be tarnished because of her war crimes. I will redeem the name of our house."
"Many do not think what your mother did was a crime." For a moment, there was silence. Yvandrielle Firestorm rises, treading a few strides down the hall and away from the other woman, who was clad in the dark leathers of a shadow-walker.
"And do you think that Prince Kael'thas should have been worshipped, instead of condemned for his actions?"
"I was not trying to start up a conversation of politics, my lady. Do forgive me. It's just that...- when it comes to our people, our kin, there is a fine line between brilliance and madness."
"Only those who are weak succumb to madness." Footsteps were heard again: weighted gauntlets against the stone floor of the hall. Yvandrielle, too, stares at the pillars as she walks down that seemingly neverending hallway. Though the eyes she saw were not her own, or those of any of her visitors, this evening. They were the eyes of her mother, blazing with the fel-corruption of demons.
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