Wrathgate Wednesday: Crone Edition

By | September 16, 2009

Dead Mage, Floppy Hat

Dead mage, floppy hat

There is more to Davien Stonemantle than her iconic floppy hat. While she is the Loremistress of Noxilite and she has connections to the Riders stemming from other major RP events, she is also the de facto caretaker of her (still breathing) niece and nephew.

Long before Yva Darrows associated (willingly) with the Riders, she was a close confident of Davien. Being incredibly adept at Arcane magic, Davien makes up the Trifecta of magi who were supposed to deliver a massive blow to the Lich King…

Auntie Davien, where are you going?” The little girl perched on the edge of the bed, watching her aunt twist her long black hair into a bun. Implements of the dead woman’s trade were laid out in neat rows on the bedspread — books, crystals, a finely wrought dagger, vials of moonwell water, a pouch filled with runestones, another filled with sand, rings, trinkets and scrolls — all waiting to be tucked into a saddlebag for the journey. Kyree Stonemantle sat amongst them all, tracing a silver rune embossed onto the cover of a musty-smelling book.

Davien placed the last of the pins and glanced at her niece in the mirror. “Away, sweetling, just for a few days.”

“To the north?” The girl’s voice faded out a bit, her eyes going slightly unfocused as she ran her finger along the symbol’s path once more.

The mage turned slowly, frown-lines creasing her forehead as she bent to see what had Kyree so captivated. Magic had always fascinated her niece: Kyree spent hours peering over her shoulder at books she’d brought home from Silvermoon. She’d asked for the meanings of words and symbols so often, Davien had started reading to her from them — so much so that she’d joked once to Pill that the girl could hold her own in a conversation spoken in Thalassian… provided, of course, that the person with whom she was speaking could suss out the archaic verb forms.

But this was different than her regular curiosity. The air thrummed with the familiar feel of the arcane. It was everywhere, always, even when Davien wasn’t channelling it herself, but it was never this… assertive… when it was unwielded. She reached out to touch Kyree’s shoulder.

The thrum grew louder, now a nearly palpable vibration in the otherwise silent room. On the other side of the house, Thrall let out an uneasy bark.

It is bein’ wielded. Clumsily, aye, but it’s respondin’ t’her. She kept her voice pitched low, not wanting to startle Kyree out of her trance. “Aye, t’the north.”

When the girl spoke again, her voice was hollow, expressionless. “It’s dangerous up there. There’s a bad man, and–” The rune flared, turning from silver to bright blue before it subsided. Her eyes went wide and she jerked her hand away from the book. The arcane fled, reverting back to its normal background hum.

Davien gathered her niece into her arms, holding her the way one might cradle a frightened bird. “Shh, love, I know. I’m goin’ t’help make the bad man go away. I’ll be home before y’know it.”

After a moment, Kyree’s frightened breathing slowed. Davien held up her hand and uttered an incantation; her silver hairbrush floated from the desk to her palm, and she began brushing out the girl’s fine black hair and weaving it into a braid. When it was done, they stood before the mirror, examining their reflections.

Davien leaned down to kiss the crown of Kyree’s head. She’s shot up at least two inches since last I noticed. She’s goin’ t’be as tall as me when she’s full-grown. The thought came with a pang of its own: If the world survives the Lich King, that is. She kept her voice from trembling as she straightened. “Now, be good for Lady Nane, an’ take care o’ y’r brother, aye?”

The girl held her eyes in the mirror for a moment, then twisted around to peer up at her for true. “But… who will take care of you?”

Davien smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “Old friends, Kyree-love.”

Two sets of eyes, one golden, one green, fell upon the folded parchment that sat on a silver tray atop the nightstand. It leaned against a glass of water Davien had taken to bed the night before.

Tendrils of frost crept up towards the rim of the glass. A film of ice covered the water’s surface.

“Old friends.”




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