From an old dusty book of tattered pages and loose binding:
I have gone to the Barrens to seek my fortune, in order that Raviella may journey through Azshara without my presence. It is with I heavy heart that I leave her to her own life, and journey.
The sketch of her is far better than anything I have ever done before, it is almost as if she could walk off the page. The depth and measure of the sketch left me breathless. She...I...
I think of the final words of what Sydric had said concerning Jahana, and I feel a trembling in my heart. I cannot explain it. I go over several of my sketchbooks and the statuette drawings, and realize that I have not done her justice in my art work.
I stood before the large easel with sharpened pencils, chalk, and rubber. I closed my eyes, and I invisioned her as I last saw her. I remember her touch, and caress, and how her lips felt against my own. And the pencil began to move over the sheet of paper of its own accord, I was merely the middle man. And I watched as it came together.
It was Jahana in her most provacative leathers, and her eyes held that twinkle of mischief I remember so well. She had that smile on her lips that held a sensuous and enigmatic quirk that held my heart. As the pencil and chalk moved over the sheet, I found her becoming real and ready to step off the paper into my arms. Her hair was short and framed her features, and seemed to bring out those eyes, those beautiful green eyes of hers. She was in a slight crouch as though she was ready to vanish before my eyes as she had done on so many occassions that typified her playful nature.
The only thing missing from the picture was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. I had found a way to bring her nearly to life on the page before me. As the colors of chalk blended and fell on the page and floor beneath it, I became lost in what I was doing. I was finding her again...and I forgot how much I had loved her, and I struggled to bring her back to me through the paper, pencil, and chalk.
Tears well in my eyes, as I stood before the picture of the woman, the muse, I loved so much. My fingertips reached out to touch her, and stopped short so as not to smear the chalk or ruin the effect. It was her, and it was my best work to date. I am afraid to show it to Sydric, as I want to keep her all to myself...
I have gone to the Barrens to seek my fortune, in order that Raviella may journey through Azshara without my presence. It is with I heavy heart that I leave her to her own life, and journey.
The sketch of her is far better than anything I have ever done before, it is almost as if she could walk off the page. The depth and measure of the sketch left me breathless. She...I...
I think of the final words of what Sydric had said concerning Jahana, and I feel a trembling in my heart. I cannot explain it. I go over several of my sketchbooks and the statuette drawings, and realize that I have not done her justice in my art work.
I stood before the large easel with sharpened pencils, chalk, and rubber. I closed my eyes, and I invisioned her as I last saw her. I remember her touch, and caress, and how her lips felt against my own. And the pencil began to move over the sheet of paper of its own accord, I was merely the middle man. And I watched as it came together.
It was Jahana in her most provacative leathers, and her eyes held that twinkle of mischief I remember so well. She had that smile on her lips that held a sensuous and enigmatic quirk that held my heart. As the pencil and chalk moved over the sheet, I found her becoming real and ready to step off the paper into my arms. Her hair was short and framed her features, and seemed to bring out those eyes, those beautiful green eyes of hers. She was in a slight crouch as though she was ready to vanish before my eyes as she had done on so many occassions that typified her playful nature.
The only thing missing from the picture was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. I had found a way to bring her nearly to life on the page before me. As the colors of chalk blended and fell on the page and floor beneath it, I became lost in what I was doing. I was finding her again...and I forgot how much I had loved her, and I struggled to bring her back to me through the paper, pencil, and chalk.
Tears well in my eyes, as I stood before the picture of the woman, the muse, I loved so much. My fingertips reached out to touch her, and stopped short so as not to smear the chalk or ruin the effect. It was her, and it was my best work to date. I am afraid to show it to Sydric, as I want to keep her all to myself...