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all_is_truth2015-02-13 05:02 pm
ezra_pyreborn) wrote in all_is_truth2015-02-13 05:02 pm
Entry tags:
There is this new thing happening...
Who: Ezra, Anyone
When: Arrival
What: An undead arcanist gets a library card.
Ezra L. Pyreborn, historian, linguist, and arcanist, architect of peace in his native Lordaeron, speaker to Titans and dragons, was lost. This wasn't the first time for such a thing. Wandering the world of Azeroth, crossing and re-crossing the line between death and life, negotiating between the competing factions of the Alliance and the Horde, had led him far afield. He was confident in his ability to navigate unknowns. But this time was different.
The interview with the Bronze Dragonflight was the last thing he remembered. They had opened a portal across time and space, and told him that his next destination lay beyond. Trusting them - for what else is there to do against an entire flight of dragons? - he stepped through.
He'd come out in a library. That much was clear. There were books, stacked and shelved to the lofty ceilings of a grandly furnished old building, and more books than he'd seen in one place in his life. Reading was clearly the business of whoever managed this establishment. His unnaturally glowing eyes found the darkness not at all troubling, though he found only a few candles, and no lanterns at all. Were there living patrons? If so, did they come only during the day?
Was the portal still there, closed and quiescent? It was not. Damn those dragons. What are they up to?
There was a reason he was here, surely. There was meaning in all this vast conglomeration of knowledge. There was no rush to be anywhere - dragon magic could cross time as well as space. And so Ezra Pyreborn, undead, zombie slave of the Scourge turned crusader of the Forsaken, loyal follower of Sylvanas Windrunner, tireless servant of peace, did what he had lacked the opportunity to do for a very long time. He sat down, and he began to read.
When: Arrival
What: An undead arcanist gets a library card.
Ezra L. Pyreborn, historian, linguist, and arcanist, architect of peace in his native Lordaeron, speaker to Titans and dragons, was lost. This wasn't the first time for such a thing. Wandering the world of Azeroth, crossing and re-crossing the line between death and life, negotiating between the competing factions of the Alliance and the Horde, had led him far afield. He was confident in his ability to navigate unknowns. But this time was different.
The interview with the Bronze Dragonflight was the last thing he remembered. They had opened a portal across time and space, and told him that his next destination lay beyond. Trusting them - for what else is there to do against an entire flight of dragons? - he stepped through.
He'd come out in a library. That much was clear. There were books, stacked and shelved to the lofty ceilings of a grandly furnished old building, and more books than he'd seen in one place in his life. Reading was clearly the business of whoever managed this establishment. His unnaturally glowing eyes found the darkness not at all troubling, though he found only a few candles, and no lanterns at all. Were there living patrons? If so, did they come only during the day?
Was the portal still there, closed and quiescent? It was not. Damn those dragons. What are they up to?
There was a reason he was here, surely. There was meaning in all this vast conglomeration of knowledge. There was no rush to be anywhere - dragon magic could cross time as well as space. And so Ezra Pyreborn, undead, zombie slave of the Scourge turned crusader of the Forsaken, loyal follower of Sylvanas Windrunner, tireless servant of peace, did what he had lacked the opportunity to do for a very long time. He sat down, and he began to read.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Ezra settled for a polite nod. "Think nothing of it."