seol_plumfall: (empty)
Isaac Black ([personal profile] seol_plumfall) wrote2010-08-17 09:08 pm

→Elly 1: Back in Stormwind

Dear Amy,

I thought I would write to let you know I arrived back home safely and without incident. Luckily, too, as a summer storm came blowing in off the Great Sea right after my ship came to port. It's the season for tempests here; when it's not pouring and thundering, we get to broil under the sun. Quite a change, after spending so much time up north! Once upon a time I was used to this climate, and now I can't even quite imagine how I coped as a girl. Even a linen habit feels oppressively hot; I'm almost tempted to strip and walk the streets naked, but even if one disregards the danger of sun-burn, the law regrettably forecloses that choice.

I've secured lodgings and work, though neither is especially enviable; there are reasons they call us the 'humble servants of the Light', after all. I suppose I will see about openings for a technician in the city, but I'm not optimistic; Stormwind's as crowded as Light's Hammer is on Tyrsday nights. Perhaps if I really wanted to escape the competition, I could see about Darnassus, though I can't see myself moving into some tree-house there; elves can just be so insufferable sometimes, as you well know.

You know what really tickles me, though, is that I thought that returning to Stormwind was going to mean a break from work, from theory, from all those topics we used to have wonderful arguments over, in the workshop. But my very third day working in the Cathedral I overhear some young man blathering about blood magic and runes, all while dripping onto the floor as a result of said experimentation with blood magic. It was all I could do not to laugh aloud (and most inappropriately); the topic of runework just seems to follow me, sometimes.

I had been thinking, on the ship and while getting resettled in the dormitory, that I would take the opportunity to reapply myself to the study of the Light and the healing arts. But I confess, Amy, the prospect is really not terribly thrilling. Though I know that telling you this won't dissuade you from teasing me about being 'Light-headed', I become ever more certain that though I might be a woman of the cloth, the cloth I'm cut from is rather different from that of my peers. Of course I hold the Virtues as close to my heart as any priestess does, feel compassion for the needy, and love few places more than I love the Cathedral's library, but I find myself continually astounded, especially since leaving Stormwind with the Crusade, at how alien my fellow servitors of the Light appear to me at times.

This topic's been on my mind frequently of late, largely because of a lovely young man I had occasion to meet a few days ago. He's from the countryside somewhere; I'm not exactly sure, and he's been reticent about it, but confessed this is his first time in the city and that he journeyed here in hopes of learning more about the Light. He's an impressive gift with healing magics; I don't believe I've seen many youths with that kind of talent pass through before (although, admittedly, I may not have been paying close attention, what with my chronic nose-in-book condition.) He's been by a few times, and I've done my best to help him out by pulling medical and anatomical books for him. He's a little sweetheart, terribly naïve and hopelessly inept with women, and his conversation is fairly interesting, or at least more interesting than my conversations with the broom and dustpan.

But he's absolutely ardent about the Light. Get him thinking about it and he goes all fervent and gets that rapturous, religious look on his face, the one you have a particular fondness for parodying. And it throws me for a loop whenever he does it, because I can certainly attest to love of the Light, to appreciation of the interconnectedness of all things and the ley-lines of love binding heart to heart, but an intellectual appreciation of those things is still nothing like that boy's enormous, raw faith.

I find it rather startling and intimidating, which itself I find bizarre and perhaps a little humorous. A good little Sister like me, raised in the shadow of the Cathedral all her life, educated by the clergy and groomed to join their ranks, does not understand faith! I am sure if we were having this discussion in the workshop, face-to-face, you'd have something clever to say about that.

Please do write me soon, and please include as many scathing witticisms as you can; I've no one to insult me here, and it is getting painfully lonely. I've included some licorice candy from a confectionery in the Mage District for you to chew while you're thinking up delightful crudities to put to paper. It should help with your breath, too, the pleasant smell of which is important to maintain in the event you ever wish to be kissed, or so I am told.

With warmest affection,