This is my 1st story so please be gentle. Excuse the crazy amount of commas, I've cut out as many as I could but I always seem to overuse them.
M for language. Later chapters will have violence, though probably not overly graphic, and smuttiness.
Chapter 1
Athiana Tristana Dawnstar sat on her white marble balcony looking out over the center of Silvermoon City. Golden leaves floated about on the gentle breeze while fountains splashed water into the many intricately made fountains, sunlight warming the smooth stone streets. One delicate hand rested on the golden railing in front of her, the other held a book. It was 9:25 in the morning, almost time for her daily breakfast with her father. She stood, placing the green felt covered text on the glass table beside her, and stretched.
It was an absolutely beautiful day. She slipped her tiny feet into her shoes and made her way to the oversized dining room downstairs. Quietly closing the door behind her she followed the023 red and gold laced carpeted hallway leading to the double wide stairs at the center of her fathers house. He was sitting in his usual chair, one hand on the morning news, one hand holding his cup of coffee, his ears peaking from above the grey paper. He put it down as he heard her enter and gave her a small, unenthusiastic, smile. As she sat in her regular seat a breakfast of eggs, sweet rolls, assorted fruits and a large class of milk was quickly placed in front of her by their housemaid. She politely placed her napkin in her lap and began eating.
"What are your plans today darling" her father spoke as he picked his paper back up.
She hated the forced morning conversation between them. Since her mother and sister died he had trouble communicating, or really relating to her at all. He wasn't a cold man, he just...didn't know how to do it.
"I have my normal lessons until noon, then I'm going for a private session with Magistrix Landra." she used her fork to feed herself a grape. It was going to be a very long day. Landra Dawnstrider was a nice woman, but incredibly dull. Her afternoon would be hours of casting one spell over and over until it was cast perfectly, and on such a perfect day that was the last thing she wanted to be spending it doing.
"That's nice dear" her father mumbled from behind his elegant coffee cup. That would be the end of their insightful morning conversation.
Thalistan Dawnstar was a well known and respected Magister. His opinions and choices weighed heavy on almost everything that went on in Silvermoon. The mages were by far the most important group in the city and were treated that way. He wasn't unkind, but he was a hard man. While She knew he clearly only had the best intentions for her, the same exact intentions she had for herself, he pushed too much sometimes. She had little to complain about though. They lived in the most radiant area of the most majestic city in Azeroth. They had an enormous, stunning, home filled to the brim with only the best. She had a loving father who was important in her society, and she was quickly working her way up to being important as well.
Trista was an Arcanist, a lower rank, but still ranking, mage in her society. She had been training for most of her life to eventually be a Magistrix and have power among her people. Her 110th birthday was coming up in two days, and that day would be the day she came of age. Once she did she could finally be accepted into the higher ranks.
Her father rose from his seat, patting his mouth with his napkin, breaking her thoughts. "I have an important meeting I need to be off to." She nodded and he walked over and gently kissed the top of her head. "I will be home for supper, see you tonight." He gave her a small smile and walked to the door. "Oh, and Athiana, don't give Landra any trouble", and with a stern look closed the door behind him.
She sighed, slipped her shoes off to rest her feet on the chair across from her as she always did when she was alone, and finished her meal, occasionally tapping from the mana crystal in the center of the table.
Today the sun was shining bright, glimmering off all the gold and red throughout the city. The air was warm and dry and smelt of food. The sun felt exceptional on her face.
Trista was a small girl, very small for an elf. Standing only at 5'4, not including the ears of course, she was almost a foot shorter than many elven women and was much shorter than all of the elven men. When Orcs or Tauren came into Silvermoon, which was very rare and not that she ever got to get close to them, they towered over her. She was intimidated, something she disliked admitting. Her skin was pale, the color of ivory, hair falling below her waste, straight and deep red highlighted by the sun with short windswept bangs.
Her body type was much like her height, not very common among her people, the Sin'dorei or Blood Elves as they were now named. She wasn't as slim as many of the elves. Her hips were curvy and her breasts were full much like a Night Elf yet more proportioned to her small body. Unlike them though her waist, arms, and legs were much less muscled, and she had the token pronounced hipbones and collarbone. She was once told her body type was very desirable to most of the races across Azeroth. Little good that did her, it wasn't very attractive to Elven men, the ones that mattered.
She wore an exquisitely tailored jade silken dress that hung low in the front and brushed the ground like ocean waves. Her hair was tucked behind her ears, as always, and the only jewelry she wore was a dozen or so golden studs and rings up the length of her ears and a small High Elf crest necklace, which had been her mothers.
It stunned her that it had only been six years since her Mother and Sister were taken from her, though six years to an elf was nothing. Arthas had attacked her city and wiped out almost everyone and everything, forever changing all their lives. They lost their magic, they lost their city, they lost almost everyone they knew. While her kin had finally started recovering, Silvermoon was rebuilt, the Sunwell was restored, Kael'thas paid for his crimes and they as a people joined the Horde, Arthas was still out there. He was still alive while her family was not. She slipped her hand around her little locket necklace. She had never been big on revenge by her hand, she knew his fate was sealed and his ultimate end would come eventually. She had a few thousand years to watch it happen.
One hundred and ten would make her a fully fledged adult. Once she hit eighteen her aging slowed tremendously. While she was old in the world of Humans and Orcs, she was a child in the eyes of her people. She was almost a hundred years older than their fresh adults, yet they treated the long lived races the same way as their own. In their society they ignored elves real ages and treated them the same as their own young who had recently reached adulthood. The logic of short lived races amused her.
Bells rang loudly around her reminding the city that it was ten-o'clock. She let out an exaggerated sigh and walked towards the Sunfury Spire to begin her morning training.
