A personal space dedicated to a well-traveled Courier in World of Warcraft. Some stories, some sketches, and the occasional reblog of related or inspiring posts. Can be semi-ooc at times.
(Rp servers MG, WrA)
The brilliantly overdone bouquet struck the Courier with some wariness, as did everything that Rivina would say or do that happened to be directed at her. “That’s…quite lovely, but you know it will just end up as ink? I’ve no where to put any of this anymore.”
She licked her lips nervously as she eyed the arrangement, expecting it to be laced with something troublesome.
The bouquet was beautiful in its so called ‘modesty’, but the solemnness of the meaning in the flowers did not go beneath the Courier’s notice. She touches a large sunflower petal and watches it leave its source to float down into her lap. It seemed an eternity that she stared on that bouquet, before she finally breathed out a heavy hearted sigh.
"….where the fel am I going to put all these flowers?" She shook her head as she started to bring out her mortal and pestle for grinding herbs into inks. "Might as well make the best of it…"
"Ohh dear…" the elf eyes the orange rose in its elegant glass vase before sweeping her gaze back to Lady Syllanah. "I’m quickly running out of space to put such pretty things. " Her soft chuckle floats as she holds the sycamore leaf in hand, voice warmed over. "…thank you, regardless."
The Courier’s felmist eyes travel Syllanah’s lovely face for a moment, indulging her with a coy, tease of a smile before she draws her cowl back up over her head.
"Until next time, Lady..?"
"Oh, the sycamore smells divine. I’ll have to figure out how to make it an oil or somesuch," the Courier prattles on as she accepts the gift with a little smile. "Something I can do for you?"
The Courier stared at the little leaves and smiled wryly at the gifter. “I…thank you.” She sports a little grin as she twirls the stem between her forefinger and thumb, drifting away to tend to other deliveries, taking the gifter’s curiosities with her.
Wild Gilnean white roses are heartier than the typical rose grown elsewhere, producing a stronger fragrance than other species. Its this sweet fragrant smell that brings the Courier back to a time of simplicity and happiness in different stages of her life, but also brings back a solemn remembrance of all that she had loved, and lost. The rose vine that once grew around the Handhour manor once bore brilliantly white roses, but sadly they have begun to wither to join the withered history of the Courier’s past.
Coal, her cat, or rather, familiar. He is one of the few that she will go out of her way to defend and protect, considering his orgin.
The cat was an experiment kept by a particularly cruel forsaken warlock, subjecting the feline to many fel experiments. Rescued by her then husband, which had been a feat in itself, Coal was a gift to the Courier, whom she raised back to health.
As an effect of the warlock’s experiments, the familiar retains the ability to phase out of sight, much like a succubus. And like most things that are considered misfits and are rejected by the societal norm, the Courier is quite fond of her tainted cat.
Never one to stand out in a crowd, the Courier bears a certain charm in her pleasantries, but her subtle mysteries keep others interested in what she might have to offer, while keeping them at an arm’s length, while extending that same anonymity to who she may interact with. She does not pry if not prompted to, and she herself is not forthcoming of herself unless there is something to be gained from it. All in all, the Courier shrouds herself in anonymity, and she feels stronger for it.
Children always have a way of bringing a smile to the Courier’s face. In a time where so many of her smiles are a professional mask, watching or conversing with little ones tends to soften her into sincerity.