So, since I'm a professional writer, I finally fell to the urge to write about my characters, particularly Dusty since she's not on a role playing server and I have no other outlet for her. I figured you wouldn't mind my posting the snippets. Some of them are sections of the same story, some are stand-alone, but all should link together to describe her.
This story was written for a guild contest. You had to write something that presented your character's background.
* By reading this, you agree not to laugh at my lame attempt at a last name or harangue me too badly on errors of lore. Some things I just make up for fun. Nevari is property of my sister-in-law. Warcraft is property of Blizzard Entertainment. This story is an original fan work and any similarity to other works is accidental because I've never read any Warcraft fiction, either official or fan-made. Details of lore gained from All the World's a Stage guides along with Wowwiki. *
“I didn’t think you could read.”
“Nevari.” Dustfire shut her book, stood, and smiled. In a sickly sweet tone, she asked, “Who let you in?”
Nevari ambled forward and kissed the air beside Dusfire’s cheek. “Always so clever.”
Dustfire lowered her lashes. “Not half as clever as you, I’m sure.”
“Me too. Is this what I think it is?” Nevari approached an elegant birdcage by the open window, the occupant asleep and glinting gold-red. Dustfire remained in the center of the room, leaning gracefully against a high-backed chair as she watched the other woman make cooing noises at the cage. “You finally got one. Didn’t your father used to work with them? He was a stable hand for Kael’thas or something?”
Dustfire tossed her head. “He was the best phoenix breeder in the world. Kael’thas used his animals for his own personal mounts.”
“Yes, well, that’s not happening anymore, is it?”
They smiled at each other.
“Anyway,” said Nevari, “I just came by to see your new situation. I heard it was just the quaintest room.” She glanced around at the red and gold furniture, bookshelves filled with magical books and apparatus, small piano tucked against the wall, and an equally small loom by the door. The woman who ran the boarding house made the meals, and everyone ate in the dining room downstairs.
Nevari studied the painting above the piano in particular – it was one of the few things Dustfire had managed to save from the war. Everything else had been looted or burned.
A short woman sat with a red-haired child beside her, and a taller man stood with his hand on the woman’s shoulder. Each family member had a small ruby phoenix pinned to their lapel, and a large, dark cat lounged at their feet in a red collar.
“Is that a druid?” Nevari’s smile dimmed in the wake of surprise, and Dustfire felt her own mouth relax into something sly.
“Yes.” Enslaved kaldorei druids were very rare in the pre-war Silvermoon – it was most popular to trap them in cat form with an enchanted collar – and only the richest and most powerful of families had one.
It was rumored that Kael’thas had five.
Still, Dustfire’s father had worked for a living, and no matter how rich they grew, no matter how many druids they could have bought, the quel’dorei aristocracy would never have recognized them as equals.
Nevari had been born an aristocrat. Though she had been too young to remember the times before the war, her parents had survived long enough afterward to instill her with something of what her birthright meant.
The war had almost leveled the playing fields. Every family had had to work to rebuild their lives, their families, their fortunes. But still . . .
“Well, it’s a cute place. And so fortunate for you that your little boyfriend – what’s his name? Vranesh? – could afford it.”
“I paid for it myself, actually. And I’m quite over Vranesh. He never was anything more than a toy.”
“Ah.” Somehow, it sounded condescending.
Nevari had several inches on her. She had a title that didn’t mean anything anymore, coffers a little plumper than her friend’s, and the well-bred arrogance of her family.
But, Dustfire thought with a wave of triumph as they continued to smile those fake little smiles at each other, she beat Nevari in beauty. Nevari had the tall, angular darkness that made men nervous, whereas Dustfire’s sultry curves produced results.
“Well,” said Nevari, adjusting her gloves, “I should go.”
Dustfire opened the door for her. “It was lovely seeing you.” As she held it: “Give Manasseh my love.”
Nevari shot her a poisonous glance then smiled brilliantly. “I’ll have to come by again soon.”
Dustfire shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath.
She’d be counting the days.