Strands of the Weave: A Witch's Journey

Eroding the Stone..
Remia eased into her chair and she peeled off her heavy lavender boots. She poured a pale amber liquid which faintly tasted of licorice into a goblet of gnomish carbonated water..channeling elemental frost she chilled the glass took a slow sip savoring the subtle flavor. Every muscle seemed tense and knotted from the chaos that dominated her life. It seemed as if many of her ex lovers and her ex husband had recently emerged like grubs beneath a stone after a long absence... co-incidently at the same time she was about to be wed to the cleric, Calithos Blyde. 
 
Remia detested formal..social events greatly as people adopting elaborate facades aimed at impressing others tended to be adverse to her direct and open nature. While she often tried hard to be gracious and respectful of others she simply had no patience with pretentious behavior. Yet again she found herself emeshed in planning a huge formal event..just the variety she loathed as her sweet natured and social fiancee' had been inviting most of the populance of Stormwind including several individuals Remia detested. 
 
Thus far Remia had purchased her wedding regalia..which was ritualistic armor suitable for a battle mage of Kul' Tiras or even the Rashaman Witches that Remia herself has descended from. Apparently Calithos' parents had held a ritual duel during their ceremony and this event alone pleased her. Her battle armor was a soft shade of cream with her pauldrons, cloak and belt all limmed in ornate gold designs. Cal's attire was all in blue and gold, his robe an elaborately embroidered affair with lapis and amber affixed to the front. 
 
Remia drew her dark brows together thinking of planning the affair. For now she would have to take a break from such things or it would lead to her insisting they elope in Booty Bay which to her would hold far more amusement that being polite to the social elite of Stormwind. Just thinking about that hornet's nest made her inwardly tense. She was a woman used to travel and never rooting too deeply in one spot. She found her perspective and spirit remained fresh as long as she never allowed herself to get mired down in settlements full of individuals with their intricate web of gossip and agendas.
It often pained her to think of the woman she was prior to arriving in Azeroth. The petty infighting and predatory hiarchies of this realm had done more to twist her spirit than even the Nether had managed to stress her body. Remia was used to traveling within a insular group of companions with carefully structured missions. Arriving to the Eastern Kingdom's had altered every aspect of her life..her magical arts and her personal outlook. 
Remia had once been a playful woman who had feared very little..like a bright flame that never worried it might one day be extinguished. She was open and quite trusting of most any individual she met, never attempting to assess what motivations their exteriors might house. Where she hailed from the distinctions between evil and good had seemed less blurred and far more easily discerned...friend more easily recognized from foe. Perhaps that was in fact the case, Remia thought to herself biting her lip inadvertantly, that or she had hardened to the point where she now knew the ones who you should fear the most often masqueraded as your ally.
The Archmage was having a difficult time in coming to grips with how jaded she had become. She had never sought out her current state but the evolution of her character was inevitable as water eroding stone over time. Those who had known her only a year ago had found her to be a free spirit..a woman whose vibrancy and lust for life could not be hindered. With the seasons passing her heart had become a hard, knotted thing, a tangle of knarled roots. She suspected she saw things more clearly as they truly were..but she had lost much of the joy and optimisim she had known...
 A Vision Through Milky Glass
Remia cursed softly under her breath as she stuffed an already bulging, crimson, backback with pots of mineral cosmetics, herb infused oils, and tomes. The archmage was a woman who was focused and intense when it came to spellcasting and planning battle strategies but had the tendency to be chaotic with respect to normal daily activities.
She was eager to leave the sordid climate of Stormwind behind her. She had never enjoyed the place which in her mind was was representive of the types of activities she loathed about settled communities in general...the gossip, backstabbing and jockeying for power was contrary to her direct nature. It made her bristle that to even survive in such an environment one had to employ the methods of the natives.
Remia hefted her overloaded pack on her shoulder and drug it down to the lobby of the Gilded Rose crossing the inn keeper palm with several gold. She tipped the woman heavily but lacked her normal desire to engage in a passing bit of chit chat before she departed. She wanted to quit the city as soon a possible. The mage wore the look about her of a mare that someone had attempted to break..her deep, blue, eyes wild, and penetrating; exhibiting a manner of one whose patience had been long since exceeded.
She had agreed to stay in the city for several weeks to support her fiancee's bid for magistrate. Remia thought Calithos would make a fine addition to the judiciary with his experience as an attorney, his open mind, his sense of fairness and compassion. When Remia has learned that her ex-husband was running for the position she had felt a sick lump in her belly. The archmage knew the man he had become would not hesitate to run a negative campaign, massaging and manipulating Calitho's image so he no longer resembled the man he truly was. 
Remia had hired a political consultant Keyon Channing to prepare a dossier for her on "the Professor" in case he decided to sling mud against Calithos. The dossier was most revealing with regards to her ex-husband. During the Winter he had murdered and tortured a young girl for nothing more than sadistic pleasure aided by his young bride. It saddened and angered Remia how much time had changed the man she had once loved with such an intensity.
This same man had labeled her the adulteress and whore after his moody abandonment of her the previous summer when he departed for Dalaran with not even a letter explaining his absence. Abandoned by her husband she had decided to move on with her life at a rapid pace attempting to wipe out the memory of the man she had once trusted. Trust was something that no longer came easily to her. It struck her as ironic that a scholar so dedicated to his studies on history retold his personal history in such a biased and inaccurate fashion as if seeing the event through milky glass.
How interesting it was to her that her ex-husband had no doubt been carrying on with his current wife when he was still married to her and yet she was cast as the "fallen woman" who had betrayed him. Her mother, a Rashaman witch of short temper but most pragmatic nature had an expression that perfectly summarized the tendency of those who practiced the most sin pointing their fingers at others.."The fox is the finder the stink lies behind her." Remia chuckled softly thinking of the earthy and ribald description but it fit so precisely in this case.
Indeed the historian turned political candidate skillfully wove a picure of Calithos which was a flawed copy of the original. Remia knew Cal was an eccentric man and one to take action if there was a crime afoot but somehow he was portrayed as a dangerous and delusional man who would sell out Stormwind to the Scarlet's and shoot innocent people with little cause. She had to admire "Sir" Brey's oratorial skills how he adeptly maniupulated the facts...somehow mitigating his violent past and portraying her fiancee' as a menace to society.
Normally a polite and gracious woman, Remia had lost her cool during the so called debate. Calithos was calm and exceedingly patient never sinking to the pit of muckraking practiced against him by Brey. She felt proud of Calithos for not stooping to such levels but she felt a rage and protectiveness on his behalf. It pained her that a man who had patiently stood by her and cared for her was now being maligned by someone who should have no cause to preach to anyone about morals or ethics.
Remia believed in the power of redemption.. of coming to terms with the mistakes one had made in their own lives. She felt even a murderer could atone for his past, contribute to society and find happiness with their families. But in her mind a person such as that had no place standing in judgement over others..it sent the wrong message. The message in this case appeared to be that the wealthy, popular, and well placed were somehow above the law that the average person must abide by. Smearing Calithos' name in order to gain a seat of power left doubts as to how real this rehabilitation of his actually was.
No matter, Remia thought..the populance had been mesmerized by the Professor's wit, charm and erudite turn of phrase. The nobles and social elite has appointed him as their magistrate. She had no doubt he would be a colorful figure and he had a fine mind for such matters. As for his ethical bent that would be revealed in time. For now she had to put it behind her as disappointing as Calithos' defeat was and begin to plan her future with the man she cherished.
A Quiet Thing
Remia sat nestled beneath a towering spruce tree on Calithos' ancestral estate in Ambermill. The dense needles cast a bluish-green shade which provided a welcome bit of coolness from the blazing mid-August sun. The Archmage held up her dark, thick, wild, mane and attempted to pin it up with two crisscrossing quills to hold the hot mass off her neck. She was up far earlier than she would have liked but she wanted to see Calithos off before he departed. 
She had woke up before sunrise and shooed his servants out of the kitchen to make him a hamper full of egg salad sandwiches with mayonnaise and honey mustard, some homemade fudge, and a flask of lemonade all packed in a gnomish cold chest which she had strapped onto Cal's spotted pony. 
After the campaign Calithos had received a letter by special courier from Stormwind with an elaborate wax seal incised with gilded ink. The sweet, natured, cleric seem rather pleased when he reviewed the contents, his moss colored eyes absorbing and digesting the contents of the document. When Remia asked him about the contents of the letter he just smiled pleasantly and told her he could not discuss anything just yet but after a meeting he would fill her in on the details.
Calithos was an exceedingly patient man..if one were to select an element that represented his spirit Remia would have to say his nature was most like water. He reminded her of a cool dark well...calm, cool and of fanthomless depths. He tended to observe everything around him analyzing it beneath those marvelous, heavy, lidded eyes. He would only act upon something when it was the correct time. Remia was Calithos' polar opposite..passionate, volatile, direct and chaotic epitomizing the element of fire she wielded as a pyromancer. Their courtship had been marked by this polarity of elements the patience of water subduing the intensity of fire.
Remia caressed the smooth, vial suspended on a mithril chain around her neck..contained within was the tears of a fire elemental which shone brightly even during the raw blaze of the late summer day. Caithos had given her the necklace on the day she had finally yielded to him. Remia had stubbornly eluded his pursuit for nearly a year. The archmage had simply had next to no trust for any man and thus had pursued a string of unlikey relationships she knew subconciously would fail. She had simply no desire to be hurt again so she had walled off a part of herself. Calithos had seen through her elaboratly constructed walls and had never been deterred by her defenses.
For so long Remia kept him at arms length but over time he had slowly made his way into the icy, twisted, knot of her heart. He had worn her down like wind and water on stone so gently...with his kindness..his persistience and the stories of his life and his past. Sometimes..Remia mused as she ran her fingers through the cool grass..Love is a quiet thing..not like a raging storm or the burning of the sun but something that can give you peace and shelter. 
Restorations
The Archmage stretched and slowly began dressing for the day pulling on a full linen skirt and peasant blouse then tied her long, dark, hair in a simple horse's tail with a strip of leather. She had spent most of the morning emeshed in the luxurious pleasure of sleeping in listening to the gentle cadence of the rain on the newly repaired roof. It promised to rain most of the day the skies of Ambermill a soft violet color as the rain washed the fields.
She had spent the better part of the past few months restoring Calithos's ancesteral estate, Blyde Manner. The place meant alot to Cal but had suffered considerable damage during the war...the roof had leaked incessantly, the interior paneling wood rotted and all of the carpets and tapestries has been faded and bleached from sunlight. Remia had tapped into her personal wealth, which was in the form of the many gems she acquired during her travels, to implement the changes in the estate she had envisioned.
The archmage had fitted the main foyer with polished teak paneling, ordered scarlet, amber and black carpets and tapestries from Tanaris. She had comissioned to have a Blyde family crest fashioned out of of cut stone..granite, diorite, onyx, and carnellian and hung it over the fireplace. Glassworkers had been hired in Stormwind to replace the cracked windows with stained glass of clear, grey and bluish gray panels all in a frost pattern.
Remia had directed the carpenters to fit the walls with shelves fashioned of slate which now held exquisite pottery from Teldrassil made by Kaldorei potters. The mage was enamored of the Raku pottery which had a distinctive opalesent sheen the result of mineral salt glazes and firing it in an outdoor kiln with conifer needles. She had begun collecting some of the local folk art of Hillsbrad which she displayed on the walls..many colorful wallhangings and oil paintings from local artists and craftspeople.
When she had begun her work on the manor she had asked Cal what his preferences were for decorating the rooms..he had given her no feeback on what he wanted but had given her free reign to do as she liked. Remia wanted to make a place where her fiancee' would feel comfortable and find part of himself in his surroundings so she went to his closets and studied his clothing noting the colors and textures he preferred. The mage noticed that her lover fancied either the deep reds or shades of blue or olive. Whenever possible Remia had selected those hues in the rooms of the household also selecting soft upolstery for furntiture coverings noting Cal's love of soft, warm, fabrics.
Remia had spent much of her life in battle, mired in political struggles not always of her choosing. She was taking great pleasure in creating something but longed to more than simply restore her love's home. Now that the most of the rooms had been renovated Remia was free to focus on a task of more intellectual interest. She had been interested in putting together a library for some time and had amassed many tomes from her travels most of them delving into arcane lore from her homeland. Cal had told her that his family had kept a library in the townhall next to the manor but had stored the books for safekeeping in the cellar of the structure for the better part of the war.
Remia had thought the week Calithos was to be gone on business the perfect time to begin her project of outfitting a new library. She had met with the house servants and explained the project she wished to implement. Many of the staff had been worked for the family for several generations and could be most helpful in her tasks. The mage sat at the polished redwood desk in the study drawing plan view of the library as she nipped at left over egg salad and sipped on some lemonade. So many ideas hummed in the recesses of her brain as she listened to the pulse of the rain as it drizzled off the trees next to her window.
Enshrouded in Muslin
Remia held up the heavy oil lamp as she made her way carefully into the cellar of the townhall gingerly avoiding several steps in obvious disrepair. Meland Broomnall followed behind her clucking at the condition of the woodwork. There had been no reason to inspect the cellar for years, but as the Blyde's master carpenter she could not help but wince at seeing any structure in such a condition. Meland was a spare, well muscled, women in her late fifties..clean featured, sinewy and a woman possessed of humor yet an earthy directness. Remia had liked her best of all the household staff and she respected the woman's dedication to her craft, her keen observations and her bawdy humor.
"Well ye can muck about all ye like Lady Remia with yer nose stuck in these moldy tomes as for me, I best be fixin' this mess before ye tumble arse over applecarts, yer not exactly the most graceful mage.", Meland chuckled as her brown calloused hands plucked out a hammer and some nails from a canvas apron she wore around her lean hips.
Remia made a mock face of outrage then grinned at the carpenter and laughed huskily as she set the oil lamp on a crate. She inspected the cellar in the dim light noting the large numbers of carefully packed crates all covered in sheets of muslin to keep out moisture and dust. It looked as if the crates had been packed hastily and no lists had been included as to which categories of books were contained within them. Remia groaned inwardly as this would mean unpacking and categorizing the books herself.
"Meland, would you be a dear when you are done and have some of the farmhands come out and lug up these crates to the main room?", Remia smiled pleasantly at the carpenter as Meland drove the last nail in the formerly rickety step.
Meland nodded humming some old pirate ditty Remia has heard in Booty Bay silently wondering where on earth the carpenter had picked that up. The mage returned to the main room and surveyed the empty book shelves and tables. It looked like the room had occasionally been used for meetings as the dust was not as thick as it might of been. Remia noticed a bottle of lemon oil and some rags sitting on one of the tables and quickly went to work on the tables and shelves.
Remia stood back to admire her handwork when two young farmhands shyly interrupted her thoughts. She sent them downstairs and they made light work of moving the crates upstairs setting them on the long, stout, oaken tables. When they had finished she thanked them and gave them a note to give to the cook to provide them with lemonade and spice bread.
Remia noticed that one of the crates was not actually a crate but rather a small chest. She pulled up a chair to examine it closer and realized that it had a simple latch rather than a lock. Remia cast detect magic on the chest...it was a habit from her dungeon delving that was instinctive..and found no traps or effects she coud discern. The mage carefully opened the chest to find a trove of tomes all bound in expensive bindings with the Blyde family crest on them with the exception of one tome which appeared to be a volume on local history which appeared to have been penned recently.
Remia selected one of the books with a crest on it and opened it carefully. It appeared to be a journal of Calithos's father, Lord Blyde, the script neat and precise and easy to discern. As curious as Remia was she would not read the journal without Cal's permission. She was not even certain he himself had read it. Someone had placed it here since Lord Blyde's death. The recent history was indicative of that and if Remia were to hazard a guess she would hypothesize it was Calithos's mother.
The mage leaned back in the chair and selected the history. As she did not hail from Azeroth she did not even have a schoolchild's knowledge on some events in its history. Many of the events were fresh and fascinating to her mind through honestly anything related to the arcane and Dalaran held more fascination for her than dry military histories. Remia noticed an embroidered cloth bookmark had been placed in the tome..not coincidently it marked the begining of a long entry regarding Lord Blyde and his military history. The mage settled deeper into her chair and began reading eagerly searching for any information which would enlighten her on her fiancee's father's nature.
Category:Stories
Category:Remia