About: Chapter 3 - The Dorei Wars

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The Eversong Woods were at peace, the boughs of the eternally colourful trees stirring beneath a gentle breeze, the sunlight illuminating the leaves that carpeted the forest floor in a multitude of autumn shades. From the jutting spire of the Sunsail Anchorage, Sylvain Corvinius eyed the Wretched which swarmed below with a haughty gaze, lifting a goblet of wine to his rotting features to take a soft sip, and then smack his decaying lips appreciatively. /Sylvain

Attributes	Values
rdfs:label	Chapter 3 - The Dorei Wars
rdfs:comment	The Eversong Woods were at peace, the boughs of the eternally colourful trees stirring beneath a gentle breeze, the sunlight illuminating the leaves that carpeted the forest floor in a multitude of autumn shades. From the jutting spire of the Sunsail Anchorage, Sylvain Corvinius eyed the Wretched which swarmed below with a haughty gaze, lifting a goblet of wine to his rotting features to take a soft sip, and then smack his decaying lips appreciatively. /Sylvain
dcterms:subject	Road to Supremacy
dbkwik:wowrp/prope...iPageUsesTemplate	dbkwik:resource/3sGZurKfVlJfZm34upVXnw==
abstract	The Eversong Woods were at peace, the boughs of the eternally colourful trees stirring beneath a gentle breeze, the sunlight illuminating the leaves that carpeted the forest floor in a multitude of autumn shades. From the jutting spire of the Sunsail Anchorage, Sylvain Corvinius eyed the Wretched which swarmed below with a haughty gaze, lifting a goblet of wine to his rotting features to take a soft sip, and then smack his decaying lips appreciatively. "A fine bouquet, a sore shame it lacks in taste and odour," he sullenly remarked to himself, allowing the goblet to slip from his grasp and fall shimmering in the golden rays to the hard earth. Allowing himself to sink back into his cushioned chair, he reflected on the recent events that had chanced upon him, a slight sneer adorning his features. The Magister he had encountered in Silvermoon had posed little threat, his drugged wine loosening his tongue and eventually leaving him out cold on the floor of the Inn. With the information he had acquired, Sylvain had swiftly incorporated himself into the Iron Ring, where he had come across another interesting character, the Arch Mage Mestopheles Runestratum. At the thought of their brief meeting, Sylvain's hand slid to his chest, massaging it slowly and methodically without even truly realising it himself. Dalaran. Indeed his thoughts had never left the place, his intentions growing each day among his also deepening madness. His lust for refuge had not only granted him that, but new possibilities... Soon. The single word which provided Sylvain with so much comfort. His keen hearing had picked up traces of the conversation between Ahmras and Mestopheles at the estate in Silverpine, and ever since he had obsessed over its purpose. All he knew, was that some form of powerful, arcane artifact lingered there, somewhere, and if he was to have his hands on it, a renewed course of action against Dalaran and it's ignorant denizens would be open to him. Sylvain smiled widely, allowing his hand to return to the arm of the chair like the other, dead eyes failing to reflect the sunlight. Soon, he would have his revenge and all of Azeroth would learn to fear the name of Count Sylvain Corvinius! /Sylvain

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