The Perfect Dress.

[Trinea]

This is going to be in installments as I go through the process ingame. Hopefully it's enjoyable. I know I enjoyed writing it!

---

Not even a full day passed, and Trinea had already gone from ecstatic to thoroughly panicked.

It was Saturday morning, early enough that she really ought to be in bed still. Ish had roused her from the half-sleep she was drifting through about half an hour before the sun hit the horizon. He'd already been ready to head north, the smooth, formfitting leather armor snug around his body save for his pauldrons, which were laying over the top of the chair by the door. Of course, he had taken a little bit of time to bring her tea from downstairs, one of the many thoughtful things he tended to do for her on the occasion they spent the night in her upstairs suite at the Gallow's End. The cup was already sitting on the bedside table, a curl of steam rising into the surprisingly cool room. She could already smell the crispness in the early morning air; no frost yet, but autumn was far closer than she could've anticipated, and idly she thought about the quilt she was making for the bed as she shivered a little and saw Ishbaneer off to his duty in the north. She'd have to get that done a bit sooner than she'd thought.

Half a cup of tea later and the panic struck her like a hammer, stunning and out of the blue. It was enough to actually make her gasp out loud and vault to her feet from the small table in their room, the rest of her morning tea quite forgotten. “Sooner than...” she muttered with a low string of curses. Within moments she had pushed aside the scattered papers on the table, thumping down her book of tailoring patterns, still barefooted and in her thigh-length dressing gown. She grabbed for the small light blue pouch she usually wore on her belt, rifling through for her spectacles and slipping them on.

At first Trinea went slowly, thumbing through the neat pages of thin paper patterns, which were organized with heavier sheets of parchment by use: trousers, shirts, dresses, robes, and a variety of miscellaneous things all set forth in an orderly fashion. As she kept moving through the book, however, her chest started to clench uncomfortably. “Nothing at all in here,” the priestess murmured under her breath, hissing out a sigh that blew a bit of hair from her eyes. She started flipping through faster until she finally came to a stop at the pattern for the classically styled wedding dress common to the region.

Dropping her chin into her palm, she studied the pattern for a good long while, her right index finger tracing the edges as if she were formulating the look of it in her mind. The mageweave would be easy enough to get, she mused internally, and bleach was obtainable at almost any trader's booth. But...something about it just wasn't quite right. Where was the tug, deep in her heart, the pull that said this is The Dress? She was only going to be married once in her long lifetime, and everything had to be perfect.

This one...it wasn't what she was looking for.

Trinea sighed as she straightened, slamming the book closed. She didn't even bother to replace it on the shelf with the assorted collection of reading materials and her recipe book, leaving it right where it was lying in the middle of the table instead. Heading for her wardrobe, she rifled through before pulling out a sunny, sleeveless yellow dress and the cropped white shirt she'd made quite some time ago. Tossing those things onto the nearer bed- not the one she and Ish usually slept...well, that she slept in, anyways- Trinea pulled her dressing gown over her head and stood in the middle of the room for a moment, shivering. She wasted no time washing from the cold water on the stand near her armoire, gooseflesh rising up along her arms and legs long before she dried herself and finished dressing. Another few moments and she was out the door, flying down the stairs with the quick tap-tapping of her slippers echoing faintly against the wooden walls behind her.

Before long she was in the bowels of Lordaeron, deep in discussion with Josef Gregorian, the local tailoring instructor. It was without a doubt that he could see the anxiety in her posture- and hear it in her tone of voice- as she explained the situation and what she needed, because the faint smirk he always wore grew wider and wider as she went on. Eventually the forsaken pulled himself upright with a bit of effort, creaking slightly as he folded his arms across his chest.

“The perfect dress, eh?” he mused, eyeing the young elf up and down. The look wasn't appraising in the way she was used to, and Trinea straightened herself so the man could take her measure. After a few moments and some internal gauging, he nodded slowly. In his uncommonly deep, gravelly voice, Josef murmured to her, “Well, I think I know just the thing, miss, but...” He trailed away meaningfully, a faint incredulous look on his face.

Trinea licked her lips and leaned over the table toward him eagerly. “But what? If you think you know the right one, I'll go to whatever lengths to get it,” she replied, her expression earnest and full of hope.

Her words were met with a cackle, the man shaking his head as if that was one of the funniest things he'd ever heard, but his posture relaxed a bit a moment later. “Typical bride,” he mumbled before raising his voice enough for her to catch the words more easily. “Yes, young miss. I know the perfect dress, but it isn't going to be easy to even get the pattern, never mind the materials required to make it. I'm sure the usual one would be more suitable for you in the end.”

The priestess scowled, her shoulders squaring. Her eyes narrowed on the tailor with an obviously displeased look. “I might not seem like much, but if you know where to find these things, please...tell me. I need it...as soon as possible.” Her voice was hard but took on an almost desperate edge by the end.

Josef Gregorian's smirk widened, even impossibly moreso than before. To the normal Sin'dorei, the expression would likely be frightening, but Trinea took it for what it was. He gave her another quick, cursory glance up and down, then shrugged. “Eh. It's your neck.” Pulling a scrap of parchment before him, he started scrawling down instructions in a thin, spidery script. Once finished, he pushed the paper toward her without another word.

Trinea snatched the parchment up and quickly scanned through the directive. Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she shook it off immediately. Dropping a quick, sloppy curtsey, she turned and dashed off in the other direction.

It would take her long enough to get to Dire Maul.

[Trinea]

Cloth armor wouldn't really be considered durable at all, especially when compared to some of the other forms of bodily protection.

The best form, of course, was to have someone do all the bodily protecting for a person. Cloth was at the bottom of a long list of things that could be even considered remotely protecting, but Trinea still found herself digging through her pouch, pulling out a variety of items and throwing them on as she rode northward from Camp Mojache in Feralas toward Dire Maul. It was almost fully night already, but Lucian was well trained, and she was able to rein him with her knees as they cantered up the dark, likely dangerous road. Unnerving animal calls echoed in the otherwise still air as she headed toward the area she'd been directed to, sending a shiver through the young priestess. Fortunately, Lucian didn't seem to be deterred and kept at his usual pace until the ancient Quel'dorei fortress came into view.

Trinea dismounted as her attention turned toward the massive construction, a shiver coming over her. “I'm really going to find the pattern to this dress here?” she murmured against her steed's bony neck, though the question was obviously directed toward herself. For a moment she wondered if it were even worth it, but she shook that musing off immediately, instructed Lucian to head home, and started for what she assumed was the entrance. Her Guardian hung heavy on her belt, lending her a bit more surety than she would otherwise have had in a situation like this. She was hopeful that fighting wouldn't be necessary, but stealthiness wasn't her strong suit by any means. At least she had the well-crafted mace to defend herself against the...well, whatever it was inside here.

The first ogre, easily four times her height and far more massive, took her by surprise. Why she didn't realize that the local ogre tribes might have decided to move into the largely forgotten area was beyond her, but with a roar the brutal creature was virtually on top of her- if it had been, she'd have undoubtedly been crushed in an instant- swinging a heavy sword low toward her head. Trinea ducked aside at the last moment, spinning around to face the creature as her shield flared bright white around her. Unused to offensive spells, it took another few costly moments to recall the right formulation of words for the prayers that would keep her from an almost certain death. She circled the ogre as it beat ineffectually at her shield, then paused long enough to murmur a string of words. From the sky, a bolt of pure Light crashed down onto the creature's head, lighting the long stairway with holy fire.

The spell seemed to do nothing more than enrage the ogre, however, and its attack redoubled as it went into a rage. Trinea winced as her shield started to buckle under the pressure, and she threw her hand out with another more forceful prayer. A streak of Light answered her call, arching from the sky and crashing into and through the ogre's head. With a groan, the ogre swayed and toppled over onto it's face, quite dead. The shield left her almost in the next second, and Trinea leapt backward to avoid being buried underneath the creature's dead-weight. She breathed a slow sigh of relief, pausing to check the ogre for anything useful, and murmured a prayer for the dead over the body before pressing onward.

That initial incident was enough to put Trinea on edge. She did her best to stick as close to the walls as possible, staying in the shadows out of the way of the massive bonfires that the ogre population had built against the wild darkness of Feralas. Fighting was still necessary on occasion, regardless of how much she loathed it, but she managed by the grace of the Light to come through each encounter with hardly more than a scratch. It took her some time to find the actual entrance to the complex, and after not all that long thereafter, she was pretty certain she was hopelessly lost. She went around in what seemed like circles for at least an hour, dodging ogres, putting the restless Quel'dorei spirits to rest where she was able. Once or twice the thought crossed her mind to pull her hearthstone, certain she wasn't going to find the provisioner she was looking for after all. But just as soon as she thought it, the idea passed right from her mind, her determination to get this dress made far greater than the growing sense of anxiety she was beginning to feel.

She stumbled across the doorway to the hidden library, literally and quite by accident. Trinea had come across a large circular room with a high ceiling, filled with at least a couple types of arcane creations. It was one of those she'd been fleeing from when she tripped on a crack in the floor. Her hands thrust outward and connected with nothing but air as she stumbled through a door she hadn't noticed on her cursory inspection of the room. The mana surge followed her, but not for all that long, seeming for whatever reason unwilling to continue on as she raced headlong down the seemingly endless, low-lit corridor.

Panting heavily, she didn't really take notice of the fact that the light was growing here, at least not until she broke free of the hallway and into a large room. The priestess paused to catch her breath, crouching forward and resting her elbows on her knees. After a few seconds, her heartbeat steadied a little from the panicked flutter caused by her flight, and she straightened enough to look around.

This room was similarly high-ceilinged but square, filled almost from top to bottom with shelf after shelf of books, scrolls, and other assorted volumes of writing. Her anxiety melted immediately as she took in the sight, not with her eyes but with the slow spread of arcane, which she pushed before herself until it spread out through the entirety of the room. Here and there the shimmering forms of High Elves became visible, swirling purple and blue, going about their business without a thought for their unexpected visitor. Square tables were spread out at regular intervals around the room, likewise piled high with all manner of writings. Dim torchlight glowed from sconces along the walls, enough light for her to actually see by now. Trinea pulled out her spectacles and slipped them on, then licked her lips nervously. She took in a slow, steadying breath before clearing her throat loudly.

Several heads jerked in her direction, but for the most part the rest of the elves went about their business. One of them, an absurdly tall male with dark purple hair and scraggly sideburns down his cheeks, approached, his eyes narrowed on her distrustfully. Trinea resisted the urge to backpedal and rose to her less-than-intimidating five foot six inches, squaring her shoulders. She put on her brightest and best smile, chin tilting back to connect with the Quel'dorei's eyes levelly.

“Hi! Nice to meet you,” she said, masking the faint tremor in her voice. “Sorry for the interruption, but I'm looking for a provisioner, and I was wondering if this might be the right place?”

The elf's lips pulled down into a deep scowl, and Trinea almost turned on her heel right there, certain that he was going to attack her on the spot. But instead, without a word, he jerked his head with a beckoning motion, indication for her to follow. Meekly, the missionary did as instructed, her footfalls sounding much too loud amidst the faint shuffle of slippers on the stone floor. Down a flight of stairs and halfway across the room and the Quel'dorei paused, nodding to another that was bent by the waist over one of the tables. At the approach, the provisioner straightened, turning his eerie gaze on her.

She wasted no time then in explaining what she was looking for. There was no haggling over prices, no discussion of trivialties through the encounter. The elf merely listened, then turned to his stores and retrieved what she desired. He held it out by his thumb and forefinger, letting Trinea scan the front cover of the pattern momentarily, then held his hand out for payment. She quickly dropped a small purse containing ten gold pieces- a fair amount as far as she was concerned, but in actuality overpriced by far- into the awaiting palm. Trinea took the dress pattern, resisting the urge to snatch it up and clutch it tightly to her chest. Her other hand pulled her hearthstone, whisking her away through the Nether to Dalaran before the provisioner could so much as blink at her strangely.

[Trinea]

Dalaran was a confusing, jumbled mess for Trinea, as always. She spent as little time as possible there, dashing off to the portal for Undercity as quickly as she could. A brief sigh of relief escaped her as her feet planted firmly on the cold stone floor of the Magic Quarter, even though she was still slightly woozy from the quick jerk that'd pulled her through the Nether. The trip from the city toward home seemed to take no time at all, so lost was she in her own giddiness and internal musings. Without her knowledge, Trinea's hand dropped to fold protectively over her pouch and its precious contents the entire way. She didn't feel entirely safe and certain until she'd made the door to her room, quickly unlocking it and shutting herself inside.

It was already full dark by now, though she hadn't paused to check the clock tower for the time. Somewhere past nine to the hour at least, she thought absently as she went around the room by practice and lit a few candles to brighten it up. Everything was just as she'd left it early that morning, though the priestess hardly took note of her surroundings as she pulled forth the pattern again.

Within moments she had her spectacles perched on her nose, leaning forward to go over the specifics, the items she'd need to buy or gather to make this dress. Her hair fell down around her face as she tugged Ishbaneer's sketchbook toward her and flipped through to the last page.

Quill in hand, she looked between the pattern and the book, scrawling down what she would need and murmuring them to herself. “Hmm... Six yards of runecloth. That'll be easy enough, I suppose. Four of...goodness. Mooncloth's hard to come by. I suppose I'll have to see what I can do about that. Golden pearls, too.” She hummed thoughtfully as she copied down the list of supplies, absently rubbing her scalp. “...for buttons, maybe? Eh, I'll have to look later. And...ah. Thread. Well, that's the easy part, anyways.”

Once completed, Trinea browsed the list again and made little side notes on what she figured she could buy from auction and what she'd have to gather up herself. Runecloth would be easy to get, but the mooncloth...well, that was a different matter entirely. Mooncloth was made from felcloth, and there was only one manner of creature that kept such a dirty, repulsive thing on its person: demons. And even then, it was rather rare, which would make matters even more difficult.

The young woman pushed herself upright and went for her book of patterns again, flipping through to the tab containing the hows and whyfores of making bolts of cloth. Within moments she found the one for mooncloth and read through it quickly just to double check against her memory. “Mm, okay. I was right,” she mumbled to herself, snapping the book closed again. “Two pieces of felcloth, bring them to a moonwell and infuse them with the power there to transform it into mooncloth.”

Trinea looked around, sighing wearily. She massaged her shoulder for a bit, fingers kneading into the tender flesh there. It was late already, and she obviously wasn't going to start hunting demons tonight. But first...she needed to straighten up around the room before Ish got home. So she set to that with renewed vigor, making sure to rip out that last page with her notes on it before putting his sketchbook back where she'd found it.

Tomorrow. That was going to be an even longer day.

---

There was no doubt that the next day was indeed very, very long. Trinea left Brill within half an hour of Ishbaneer, a pack carrying food, water, and other supplies slung over her shoulder, her destination Kalimdor. A bit of reading had given her an idea of where to look for the felcloth she'd need for her dress- they didn't call it Felwood for nothing, after all. The trip there had taken a while in itself and once arrived, it had taken her a bit longer to locate the demons that carried the cloth. Merely being around them made her sick to her stomach, but after the first couple fell to her under the power of the Light, the task had become almost joyous. She was there for one reason, and that was to get the cloth; but it'd become almost twofold as well. Trinea was serving herself and the Light at the same time, and that thought seemed to lend her almost a peaceful air as she called the magic around her with a prayer and a smile on her lips, and smote down the demons one by one.

Going through their things, however, was a bit of a difference. She'd decided to wear gloves, the heavy leather kind she used for gardening, as if they'd keep the taint of fel off of her. The cloth itself was found only rarely, and it was the only thing she was looking for; she left the little bit of coin and other items occasionally found on them. A special sack held the cloth when she picked some up, enchanted to contain magics...so she wouldn't have to feel the touch of the fel clinging all over it. That part, it made her nauseous, but she pushed through it, and once she had all she needed, Trinea built up a quick fire and burned the gloves she'd used to pick it up with.

It was already growing later in the afternoon by then. She could tell by the way the sunlight slanted through the dense trees. Before long she was making her way out of Felwood, more than relieved to be free of the taint suffused into every square inch of the land and air. There was no doubt about it; she felt dirty, absolutely disgusting. Even the windrider that had taken her from Felwood to Orgrimmar, and after her zeppelin ride from there to Grom'gol and up through to the Dark Portal the one from Hellfire Peninsula to Swamprat Post in the Zangarmarsh had been able to tell. Neither of them were comfortable carrying her, the aftereffect of that uneasiness being that they flew faster than normal, as fast as they physically could.

But she was here now, she thought as she repressed a shiver against the chilly, moisture-saturated air. Trinea pulled the hood of her cloak up around her face, pausing long enough to retrieve a handkerchief from her pouch and tie it firmly around her mouth and nose so that she wouldn't breathe in the spores floating everywhere. The last time she had spent any significant time here in the Zangar, she'd come away with a bad lung infection, and she had absolutely no desire to repeat that portion on her visit here.

Trinea ducked her head against the slow trickle of rain and headed southward along the path, mindful to pay enough attention so that she wouldn't stray off into the marsh itself. Her power in the Light had grown considerably, but it was still dangerous here, and easy enough to get lost in the mist and rain. Her boots squelched in the mud, the rain soaked into her cloak and further still through her clothing, but she didn't mind it, not this time. Her destination was in sight after not very long at all- Cenarion Refuge, containing the only moonwell she could think of that was accessible to her. The druids gave her only a cursory glance as she moved through the refuge; she hadn't spent a significant amount of time among them, and undoubtedly to them she was just another elf passing through.

The priestess paused at the base of the moonwell, inhaling deeply as her inner sight tried to process what was before her. Everything about the well was blue-white and thrumming with power so strong she could feel it along her skin. There was no doubt that Elune was a real force, too; as real as the Light. It wasn't her path and she knew that, but it didn't mean she couldn't respect the power that lay before her.

Trinea didn't take much notice when she slipped into a daze of sorts. Her pack dropped to her feet, and before long the rest of her clothing did as well, leaving nothing at all between herself and the compelling power before her. Was it some sort of subtle magic working through her? There was no way to really know, but it was a true enough fact that she'd never in her wildest dreams- or nightmares, in fact- strip utterly naked in the midst of a sizable encampment. Slowly Trinea stooped down and retrieved the bag containing the felcloth, pulling it free of its confines. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that she ought to be repulsed, the cloth being against her bare flesh, but it didn't really seem to matter at this point. The druids on either side of the moonwell watched her sidelong, but only for a brief moment, and that one quick look was enough for them to glance at eachother with a knowing smirk. Trinea, of course, didn't take note of them as she slowly and reverently pulled herself up the stone stairs, pausing at the top near the edge of the moonwell.

Conscious thought had well and truly fled by now. Had she stopped for even a moment to ponder her situation, Trinea would have fled in mortification. All the little worries she carried deep within her would've bubbled to the surface; too young, too skinny, blinded, the faded burn scars along her face and chest, the deep pinkish-white scars made by a ghoul's claws dragging from her right hip and all the way along her thigh, the faint silver line made by Edward's enchanted sword when he'd thrust it through her side...all these things and others she forgot about, things which on a day-to-day basis Trinea subconsciously thought of, things that made her, at least in her own eyes, even more physically imperfect than she already was. No, she hadn't been lucky enough to receive her mother's looks. The only thing she had inherited from the woman she'd never known was her poor health. Still, none of that mattered, did it? Not in the face of this.

Straight shouldered and full of a gracefulness and poise she normally wouldn't attribute to herself, the priestess slowly stepped forward, sinking into the smooth, unbroken line of water, so serene before her it shone like glass. Slowly she slipped down, immersing herself and the tainted cloth within, and her footsteps caused hardly a ripple. Absently she wondered at the warmth she found there, but that thought drifted away as her feet left the bottom and she drifted within the water herself. Her eyes stayed open, though she couldn't see anything but that blue-white power shimmering around and through her as she floated. Time passed, and it seemed like a moment and an eternity at the same time. She allowed the power of the moon goddess to wash her clean, and that which she carried.

Eventually she came back to herself somewhat and realized that it'd grown late. With no little reluctance, Trinea withdrew from the moonwell, letting the water drip from her as completely as possible before she headed back down the steps with her reward; the felcloth not being the tainted blackish purple color, but washed clean so that it now held that same blue-white color she could see all around her. She would've expected to feel some sort of guilt over what she'd just done, following some long-held heathenish Kaldorei practices, but Trinea didn't. Elune was real and powerful in her own right despite the fact that Trinea herself didn't follow the goddess. Sucking in a slow, cleansing breath, Trinea turned toward the moonwell again, knelt, and began to pray.

“Thanks to you for giving me what I need, and even greater thanks to the Light for setting me upon the path that brought me here. I would not ask for blessings from Elune, because that isn't my place, nor do I follow her...but I know that in some small sense I've felt a touch of her power. As the Light moves through and within all things, so too do I know that it dwells here as well.” Trinea paused momentarily, a smile curving her lips as her arms closed more firmly around the purified mooncloth. “Yes, even through and within Elune herself. I've been blessed; I feel it and know it as much as I know that I live and breathe.”

Her head lowered even more as she raised a hand to mark the symbol of the Light across her chest. “So thanks go to the Light for bringing me this gift and some small sense of peace tonight. As you will, it shall be so. Amen.”

Rising carefully, Trinea reclothed herself in something clean and headed back toward the Post and homeward with her prize, leaving her old things to be burned clean in fire by the druids of the Circle.

[Trinea]

<<Erier>>

Eventually she came back to herself somewhat and realized that it'd grown late. With no little reluctance, Trinea withdrew from the moonwell, letting the water drip from her as completely as possible before she headed back down the steps with her reward; the felcloth not being the tainted blackish purple color, but washed clean so that it now held that same blue-white color she could see all around her.

Her eyes darted from her prize as she felt a slowly intensifying heat all around her. With a sense of dread, Trinea lifted her gaze to meet with the eyes that she felt burning onto her naked body. Time felt like it froze as it just now sunk in that a crowd of aroused men encircled the moonwell to watch her bathe for the lengthy amount of time she was caught in the peaceful aura of Elune's natural magics. Trinea recognized many of these men as being inhabitants of Brill mixed in with the odd Outland traveler or Cenarion guard.

A large grey cloud could be seen streaking across the landscape as the men's eyes were plastered onto Trinea's busom and petite, slender form. Every single one of them fell behind an invisible blade that the cloud that had closed in possessed. When the furious winds and dirt dispelled around him, brought on by his fury and wrath, it was revealed to be Ishbaneer himself!

Trinea pulled out of her shock, grabbing her body self-consciously as she looked around in amazement at all the poor sods that Ishbaneer had just offed.