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| - With a small sigh, Anariell lay against the neck of her pink unarmored hawkstrider Kien’thal. His gait was smooth and steady, gentle bouncing on the dusty streets of Orgrimmar lulling his rider into a light stupor. Dressed in her fine read robes, white cloak with hood atop her gemmed saddle with numerous odd shaped saddle bags, she was quite the picture riding down the Drag to the Valley of Honor. Few Grunts and merchants called respectful greetings to her as she passed, which she acknowledge by raising her head. She trusted Kien’thal to see her safely to her apartments and to keep an eye out for hands to near her saddle bags. She contemplated the parchment and vial in her hands, the rhythmic padding of her mounts walk causing the crimson contents of the vial to swirl in a mesmerizing manner. Lord Zouche’s letter did not make sense… not much of any sense at least… What exactly did this elixir do? And how would it help with her situation with her grandparents. Dream vision… Would it show her in dreams the reality of what her grandparents would say if she were to tell them of her holy specialization? Or would it merely allow her to live out her reoccurring nightmare in new vivid detail… Perhaps there wouldn’t be a distinction between the two. Was it really as testable as that… One, drink elixir, two, know the future? Her hands, shroud in black silk with purple stitching convulsed on the letter crinkling the smooth parchment. Clouded thoughts caused her to loose her balance when she dismounted, legs getting caught up in the skirt of her robes. Quick as a cat there were strong blue arms standing her back up. Zeekai was only a young boy by trollish standards, one of the children of the hunter trainers who’s rise was above her apartment, but he was only inches shorter then her with many years and inches in his future. “Aftanoon priestess.” His voice was light and cheerful, respect evident. Anariell smiled at him, moving her hands to place upon him a Blessing of Kings. Not yet seasoned in adventuring, he was unlikely to realize the difference between the blessing she bestowed and the one that an actual priest would give. After the flip of four silver he was gone again, Kien’thal tottering, seemingly alone towards the stable. Anariell giggled. “Hope that boys parents don’t expect him to become a hunter.” No one was around to hear this save the fishes in the pond and the wind, but she could have sworn she heard a trollish chuckle from the direction Zeekai had gone. Parting the thin skins that served as her doors, she slipped inside her apartment. The vial and crinkled letter were laid gently on the table as her hands reached up to ease her silk hood to her shoulders and untied the soothsayer’s tribal headband from her forehead. Gloves and shoulder guards were also discarded on the table neatly. Piece by piece she removed her healing gear… both a real identity and true disguise till she stood only in her robes bare feet, blonde hair down in waves around her shoulders. A breeze passed under her door, carrying with it the now familiar smell of water and heat. Two elfish incense burners were lit on opposite sides of the room wafting the smells of peacebloom and sungrass into the small room and out under the door. With a sigh she collected the vial, settling down on her bed furs and playing with the vial. How many times had she imagined how her grandparents would react? The nightmare she couldn’t wake from, curling lips, sneers, furrowed brows and the accusation of being weak. Standing in her frail healing cloth, taking blows not even the finest forged plate could withstand. The vial’s wooden stopper twisted off easily enough, and the red liquid was not sluggish as she tipped the vial down and swallowed it’s contents. Laying down on her furs she panicked briefly, wondering if she would wake… what she would see … when it would take effect, her hands clenched on the furs and loosened suddenly, and she was dreaming.
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