Thursday, November 8, 2012

The Scribe

In the darkest hour of the night there is but one light visible, still flickering in the window of the Dalaran Dormitory. If you quietly approach the window, lightly fogged with the difference in warmth from the fireplace within, you can see a young woman. Her dark shoulder length hair is tucked neatly behind her ears and she wears a simple but sturdy grey robe. She is hunched over her desk in diligent concentration. She is writing. The soft glow of a magical lantern bobs just over her shoulder illuminating her work.

You might wonder why she writes so industriously at this odd hour. She is a student here of the arcane, but her first love is for wordcraft. She is a scribe. At this hour, if she is not found scribbling at her desk she can be found in her bed curled up with a good book.

When she was younger she thought to become a painter. Sadly, she did not have the talent to coax from her brush to the canvas the images she saw in her mind's eye. Now she paints with words creating worlds on paper. Some may say this is an easier art. Yet sometimes those just right words fly just out of pen's reach.

Still she writes...

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