Dig your nails in - Irraestia Limathos

The sun cast a golden glow over the light morning mist. The trees were still, silent, for there was no breeze. The creatures of the jungle howled and cooed their good mornings to each other, and the air smelt of a damp musk that was sweet and bitter to the senses at once. A low thudding sound could be heard rapping at the jungle bed, disturbing the leaves and sticks cast aside as useless by the trees. Soft muttering was dampened by the bed and vegetation around the group, and the sounds and vibrations shimmered the dew drops on the leaves of the nearby shrubs, glistening with golden light.

Two elegant, smooth emerald eyes blinked in succession, snapping attention back to the beholder. Deep crimson painted lips, deeper than blood, pursed slightly in frustration. Moments like these were hard to come by, and were certainly welcome when they did. The long lashes covering her eyes flared outward after a long breath, and the seasoned woman straightened her posture.

A loud thumping sound was heard, followed by aggrivated mumbling and the sound of trinkets and belongings spilling out over the jungle floor. There was a light splash as someone stumbled into a small puddle, followed by a groan from the unfortunate male. A deep sigh ensued, and the eyes of the beholder found themselves looking over the now mud-clad male. A hard worker not ready for the morning... his limbs were thick with muscle and the skin stretched tightly, beads of sweat taking in the golden sunrise and shooting it back to her eyes... She shook her head, then smiled to herself. She chose her workers well. The fact that the vast majority of them were attractive, built males was unrelated, but certainly appreciated.

Her chin tilted up, and once more the scent of her surroundings assaulted her, and she had to grudgingly bring herself back to business. She was far, far more than all of this. She knew it, her men knew it, her customers knew it... but most importantly, her defeated enemies knew it. She was Silvermoon herself, a glistening jewel in a warscarred territory.

"If anything in that shipment is broken, gentlemen, you won't be making it into Duskwood. If you do, that very aspect that makes you a gentlemen would be mistakenly left behind... crystal?" The dark crimson lips parted slightly when speaking, but rather than a sweet song of longing that would be expected, they left a short, curt scoff to the air. The voice is the greatest weapon one can have... understand and master it, and you are everything.

The men pulling along these wagons off away from the riverbank straightened up, and promptly picked up the pace. The tipped wagon was restocked with care and efficiency, and the men secured it all for a final inspection. One of the men wearing actual clothing instead of a tied off pair of cutoff shorts checked it over, gave a quick nod to the emerald and crimson face and she let the corner of her lips tug at a smirk. She clapped her hands once, and all of the dirt covered, sweat beaded workers snapped up infront of the wagon save two at the rear and picked up hauling lines.

"One, two... three!" The man at the head of the wagon counted off, and the five men heaved. The wagon slowly came to motion, and crawled along the path to their small camp by the road. The river was too shallow and rocky for the supply canoes to continue inland, so they had to pick up on foot. Once at the camp, they would take the packages and strap them to stolen horses and mountain goats, mounts familiar to the Alliance so as not to arouse too much suspicion on the road north - or, rather, off of the road.

Rarely had she ever come to a pickup, but there was an item of value in this shipment that not even the officers in charge of the operation knew about. She found herself tossing and turning in bed the night before, and simply couldn't rest with peace of mind until she saw it safetly back in her city. She discovered the artifact upon accident, when they had recovered it from an excavation in Kalimdor. The inventory control sent a list of recovered items to her officers doing paperwork (which never really seemed to exist for more than a day, and instead was commited to the memory of each of the operatives in the entire organization), and they sent a list of the most valuable straight to her. She noticed the locket in the list, and read the description... no, she would want to see this return to Silvermoon with her own eyes.

A sharp echo of cracking was heard in the distance, followed by a great number of screaming. They were almost at the camp, they could see it in the distance - yet someone had ordered a small group of men to fire weapons. Guns. The sound was foreign to her, she had never seen such things in operation. The sound was deafening, and made her jump. A group of men poured out over the steep hill, perhaps 7 or 8 in total, five with rifles that were being relieved by melee weapons. All sharp, she noticed, daggers and swords, all light... no axes, nothing that required two hands, though some of them were being weilded with two regardless.

Her eyes flared, and she stood still, comfortable and loose. Her own men drew weapons, and the battle commenced. Her image began to fade into the surroundings, an etheral mist that was her image now being distorted by the cracking and clanging of the nearby weapons. She could not be slain, for she was far too valuable. She doubted that even had one of them targeted her that they would be able to make it more than a few steps. She smirked sinfully at the thought, and decided to test this. She made a sudden movement to her left, intentionally keeping out of the eyes of the attackers, her image still blending with the jungle around her... then drew her wand and shot the smallest of dark energies flying at one of the leather-clad attackers. It struck him in the back, and he turned straight toward her. He laughed, seemingly unarmed from such an offensive, and started toward her with two swords drawn. She tilted her head to the side, chin up, leaning on her left leg more than her right. The man charged, and she stood rooted in position, limp, loose and entertained.

Black ooze began to seep through the pores of the attacker, and her eyes flared once more... She stood as still as she could, though her right hand seemed to have an itch or an odd twitch to any ignorant observer. The attacker howled in pain, and a blackish-purple wisp of smoke exited from his screaming maw. He dropped to his knees, collapsed forward, and was silent. She giggled quietly, her lips parting to a beautiful and alluring smile, singing a song to serenade any man who would hear... her eyes blinking in a sadistic, mad pleasure, as though pulling the wings from a butterfly.

The battle was over shortly, and nine men lay dead and bleeding on the ground. Amateurs. They assaulted with seven and killed three. One remained, kneeling, sword at his throat. He seemed to gasp for air, taking it in like someone who just surfaced after facing drowning in the deep blue, taking in the cold air for what it was - life.

She strode toward the figure, taking each stride as a victory ball held in her honor, letting the pride taint the morning air as though blood drying on the surface of a fresh cut... the echoes of battle having cut the serenity of the landscape already. Her expression shifted, and she no longer looked insane and gleeful, but rather slightly annoyed. She looked down at the kneeling man, whose head was jutting up from pressure on the sword at his neck, and she locked eyes with him. He seemed to calm, his breathing seemed to steady, and a tear trickled down from pain-stricken eyes - he looked like a child who had just upset his mother so bad that she slapped him, like a child stricken with the grief of disappointment.

She spoke once more, this time softer, but still short, "Talk to me, my dearest, and you will recieve absolution in a quick and painless manner."

The man stuttered, bleeding, sweating and crying. The sight was pitiful, and she wanted nothing less than coming in physical contact with it. "...n-nothing to s-say, m'm... m'lady. Pers-sonal mission, s-see... wish I could s-say more."

"And this is reason for me to spare your suffering because..?"

The man said nothing, but quickly jerked one of his hands. His eyes went wide, his mouth jutted open, and he gurgled. Blood and saliva dribbled out of his mouth, and she looked down - he had stabbed himself. No real loss. There was rarely any loss to her.

She turned to one of her workers, "Check the body for anything useful." She pointed to another, "You, go grab help from the camp to get this shipment up to the caravan. I want to be in Redridge by noon."

They both promptly nodded, and went about their business. She walked slowly toward the wagon and ran a hand across the smooth fabric tied overtop. It would take more than small-time bandits to stop her... more than the Defias... more than the Bloodsail... more than that.

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A sigh lingered on the air. A quill was slammed down on the table, and her hands ran through shining, silky hair that matched the deep crimson of her lips. She was tired. The day was old, or young... perhaps it was a new day, too young for light. She couldn't tell.

She opened one of the drawers in her desk slowly, and thoughtfully. Her hand started in, and withdrew shortly after, a glinting, silver chain dangling freely from her fingers. A small, round locket was at the end of it, and she looked down at the intricately carved 'L' on the surface. She tried feebly once more to open it, but it seemed as though solid, as though there was simply nothing to open. She stared an eternity at the letter engraved in it, until a rapping at her door snapped her to her attention once more. She replaced the locked in the drawer, and she closed it promptly.

"Enter."

The door creaked quietly open, and a man stepped through with a piece of parchment. He made it to the desk and bowed slightly. Never were any to salute her in her chambers, for this was her sanctuary. One bowed with comfort, instead. She nodded, and he handed her the paper. Her eyes scanned over the surface, then rested on a pair of names and a magical image in the corner... A beautiful couple, she saw, a man and girl... Perhaps a father and daughter, for she looked far too young for them to be married, yet their surnames were the same. She read over everything else quickly, and her eyes shot up sharply at the man infront.

"Have you shown this to others?" She inquired quickly, shortly, and dangerously.

He stood rooted in place, and seemed very intimidated. "No, Lady Limathos, only you and I."

She stared at him a moment, not letting the piercing look fade from her face. He stood still. She stared. The moment was an agonizing eternity to the man, and he felt his left knee begin to quiver. She smiled suddenly, the piercing look gone from her face, and rose. He bowed once more, as was customary when a lady rose from her seat.

"There there, my friend, you've done nothing wrong... no need to be so... uptight," she smirked. She strode seductively to the front of her desk, and leaned one hip on the edge, hands folded neatly on her lap. She looked into his eyes, and he could not help but stare back... his problems were trivial, now, his wife, forgotten... he could smell inscence, and he seemed to feel weightless in the air... he was not sure if he was even still on the ground, so relaxed, so peaceful... followed by a sharp pain in his chest that made him scream, only no sound came out. Her hand was raised, seemingly clawing at the air infront of it, raised to the same level of his chest, and a jet of light seemed to be flowing into her hand from his body. He twisted, writhed, seemed to age quickly, for his skin grew pale, darker and hung loosely on the ragged body that was left of him... the display ceased, and he dropped.

She strode peacefully back behind her desk, sat down, and read over the parchment once more, eyeing the picture and the inscription beneath.

'... and Tyrian Malakym...'

Something troubled her, and she rose once more. She strode back to the body, and noticed a thick, large envelope protruding from the body's coat. She retrieved it, broke the seal, and opened it. Irraestia Limathos' eyes narrowed slightly and beheld the thick, intricate writing on the cover.

'The Magisterium'