A Murder Most Fowl

korkrunchcereal:

As the sun began to set
beyond the darkened horizon that was the heart of the fel storm, Aurelian
checked over his appearance in the mirror for at least the fifth time in twenty
minutes. Dusk was approaching, and with it the inevitable arrival of Lady Stargrove’s
servant to fetch him. Less was more in the Nightborne culture, of that Aurelian
was certain of. His exposed muscles were well defined and accentuated by the
silvers of ornamentation and jewelry. What silks he wore did little to hide his
musculature, with arms and torso nearly exposed. At the very least he wore
trousers, not that Aurelian minded being so exposed. He often dressed in such
ways within his own home of Castle Indaris anyways.

Glittering eyes tainted with
the arcane looked at the reflection in the mirror. So far, the illusion Illuria
had cast upon him had held up much to his luck. He could not help but admire
his appearance as a Nightborne, somewhat envious of the natural regality they
possessed. To see this remnant of the old empire made him realize how far the
Sin’dorei really have gone from their imperial roots. It was a mistake he would
strive to correct in his own vision of the Gilded Lands.

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