Gaunt and greyed, Lannik Gorathian sat hunched over his desk, leering at what had just become the eighty-first page in an ongoing documentation of his. Far off on another desk lay the bindings and cover that would one day make up what the elderly man hoped he would be remembered for. If he was lucky, and kept his dutiful scratching away, he might see that goal out before too long.

 

Heaving a sigh, the old man pushed himself cautiously to his feet against the table, and called throughout the house for his niece. Being the only other resident of this particularly grandiose manor meant that it took her some time to heed the dry timbre of his yells. Lannik reached out toward the flickering green flame at his left, smothering the tip of the candle upon which it burned with his palm. The dancing fire didn't burn at him, instead caressing at his wrinkled palm and swirling to his fingertips, leaving his skin and the thin hairs on the back of his hand unscathed. Raising the hand up, he quickly clenched his fist and snuffed the flame out.

 

The doors which barred entry to the Gorathian Manor's study were thick, dark, and notoriously heavy. Intricately carved from dark teak, they were well beyond Lannik's ability to manipulate by hand in his age, though his mastery over the arcane meant he didn't need to give up his privacy just yet. A wave of the hand caused the thick wood to groan as it opened, revealing the short, slender, and similarly pale woman on the other side. The old man's studious green gaze watched her whilst her similarly hued orbs kept focused at the floor, as though she refused to meet his eyes. This was typical it seemed, and Lannik was yet to discern whether this was her meek nature, or a quiet disdain she kept quietly hidden away. In truth, he didn't care either way. She served her purpose, and she could think whatever she wanted while she did so. Lannik stepped out of his study, balancing on his cane, and waved his hand once more to bring the dark doors behind him to a slow and steady close, the rumbling boom they produced echoing throughout the manor's vastly empty rooms.

 

“We've a meeting to attend.”, Lannik spoke curtly, making his way to the staircase that lead to the great hall below, leaning against the bannister as he went. “In Northrend, no less. So, pack yourself some warm clothes and make whatever preparations you feel necessary. We'll be there for a week or so, and we leave tomorrow.” The old man waved his hand in dismissal shortly after the statement, and made his way to the front room, settling into one of the plush and luxurious seats near the hearth. “Be a dear and set a fire, too.”, he closed his eyes and leaned back, hearing the roar and subsequent crackle of life that the flames produced. Basking in the permeating heat that soon ensued, Lannik allowed himself to unwind as he muttered to himself.

 

“There's much in store for us.”

Author Zaanthe
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