It was quiet in the courtyard, and all Torja could hear was her own heart pounding in her ears. “Silent as the grave,” she thought to herself, then immediately she regretted it. Of course it was. These were the ruins of Lordaeron, once proud human kingdom, now home to the Forsaken. As far as the zombies, she could see none from her vantage point. None awake at dawn, or so she hoped, as the dwarf clung to the shadows of the decrepit archway. She felt rather silly doing this, in all honesty. Torja Soulweaver was a practiced warlock, mistress of the fel arts and demon summoning, not a rogue dancing about in the shadows.
“Anything for my queen,” she muttered quietly to herself as she reached down to take a small violet gem out from the folds of her robes. She found herself fascinated by the facets, thinking back to when she had received it.
~~~
“Torja, what do you know of the Midsummer Fire Festival?” Moira spoke in a distracted tone, reaching down with her fingers to tickle lightly at her babe's chin. Dagran Thaurissan II, the future emperor of the Dark Iron dwarves and king of Ironforge, giggled and flailed his tiny arms about in response. They stood together alone in the queen's private chambers, away from the noise and politics of the throne room, a snatch of peace from the daily pressures of council rule.
The Dark Iron woman stands up straight after her curtsy to her queen, smoothing her robes carefully to avoid wrinkles. “I know that many believe the fires ward against evil and give new spirit during the longest days of the year,” Torja comments dryly, as if reading from a textbook. “Fires are lit across the world, and it's a game to some to extinguish their enemies' fires and pay homage to their own. It ends with a rather large and extravagant fireworks display.”
“Yes, yes,” the Queen Reagent replied, waving her hand about dismissively, only to poke at the young emperor's nose. This resulted in another eruption of giggles. “Your family has served my late husband for years, if I recall correctly. Such a talented man. Quite skilled in the fiery arts. This would have been an appropriate festival for him.” Torja raised a brow at this, not expecting the Bronzebeard to become sentimental, but she let Moira continue her train of thought. It was never wise to interrupt a Thaurissan, even if she was not blood-related. “I want my son, our emperor and king, to celebrate in his place. I hear they are making coronets of flame as a reward for those bold enough to extinguish those Horde fires. I think I shall like one of those made for my dear Dagran.”
“Of course, my Queen,” Torja replies swiftly, “it shall be done.”
“Not just any coronet, of course,” Moira added, smiling down at her infant son. “A crown fit for royalty! A symbol of his position and to pay homage to his dear father. On the desk there you will find four gems. These will be set into the forefront.”
Torja turned obediently toward the desk, perusing the small jewels set there, each with a brilliant fire and sparkle. “Well-crafted,” she says quietly, “but there is something you need me to add?”
“Naturally,” Moira responded, finally looking up at her handmaiden. “The most powerful fires are those that burn within the capital cities. I need you to gather the flames from each of the Horde capitals and put them in these gems, then bring them back to me so they might be set into the crown. What better symbol of conquest and dwarven superiority?”
“Anything for my queen,” she muttered quietly to herself as she reached down to take a small violet gem out from the folds of her robes. She found herself fascinated by the facets, thinking back to when she had received it.
~~~
“Torja, what do you know of the Midsummer Fire Festival?” Moira spoke in a distracted tone, reaching down with her fingers to tickle lightly at her babe's chin. Dagran Thaurissan II, the future emperor of the Dark Iron dwarves and king of Ironforge, giggled and flailed his tiny arms about in response. They stood together alone in the queen's private chambers, away from the noise and politics of the throne room, a snatch of peace from the daily pressures of council rule.
The Dark Iron woman stands up straight after her curtsy to her queen, smoothing her robes carefully to avoid wrinkles. “I know that many believe the fires ward against evil and give new spirit during the longest days of the year,” Torja comments dryly, as if reading from a textbook. “Fires are lit across the world, and it's a game to some to extinguish their enemies' fires and pay homage to their own. It ends with a rather large and extravagant fireworks display.”
“Yes, yes,” the Queen Reagent replied, waving her hand about dismissively, only to poke at the young emperor's nose. This resulted in another eruption of giggles. “Your family has served my late husband for years, if I recall correctly. Such a talented man. Quite skilled in the fiery arts. This would have been an appropriate festival for him.” Torja raised a brow at this, not expecting the Bronzebeard to become sentimental, but she let Moira continue her train of thought. It was never wise to interrupt a Thaurissan, even if she was not blood-related. “I want my son, our emperor and king, to celebrate in his place. I hear they are making coronets of flame as a reward for those bold enough to extinguish those Horde fires. I think I shall like one of those made for my dear Dagran.”
“Of course, my Queen,” Torja replies swiftly, “it shall be done.”
“Not just any coronet, of course,” Moira added, smiling down at her infant son. “A crown fit for royalty! A symbol of his position and to pay homage to his dear father. On the desk there you will find four gems. These will be set into the forefront.”
Torja turned obediently toward the desk, perusing the small jewels set there, each with a brilliant fire and sparkle. “Well-crafted,” she says quietly, “but there is something you need me to add?”
“Naturally,” Moira responded, finally looking up at her handmaiden. “The most powerful fires are those that burn within the capital cities. I need you to gather the flames from each of the Horde capitals and put them in these gems, then bring them back to me so they might be set into the crown. What better symbol of conquest and dwarven superiority?”
