Aszanti Tal'Sindar had seen it all. Or at least she would tell you that. And Surely, she had seen her fair share, as much so as -any- Highborn who lived through the great divide, and disagreed with Kel'Thas. A woman without a people, or maybe a woman with  too -many- people, Aszanti didn't really care for the choices her peers made.<br/><br/>To fear Arcane magic like it was some perpetual boogy man was simply rediculous . So much so that spending  centuries locked away in Exile amongst the Shen'dralar seemed far more sensible.  Her people were fools, afraid of a glorious tool, because they were too stupid to treat it with the proper regard.  Arcane was  of course a dangerous thing...but well...some could handle it..and others (who shall remain nameless) unjustly exiled and imprisoned those who were capable.<br/><br/>Regardless! That was history. And while it was sweeter than any Dalaran Red the day the Kal'Dorei enlisted her help to "Train" new mages, her help didn't come cheap.  She had taken the liberty of training three half-assed magisters in the past handful of years, and while they each showed some variance of potential, none found their way under her skin as the sniveling slip of a girl before her.<br/><br/>She wasn't sure if it was the lack of confidence, the innocence, or the general sweet nature of the girl that made every instinct in the Highborn ache to consume, break and other wise destroy her. But, the fact of.the matter was, Aszanti had shit for self control. So whatever it was, was vicious.<span style="color: #00ffff">"Nyssea, " </span>she purred, never meeting the girls eyes as she thumbed through the girls journal.<span style="color: #00ffff">"Does mediocrity come naturally to you, or do you.actually aim for it?"</span><br/><br/>Her steely gaze cranes upwards as she closes the book and leans back in her chair.  Her robes are made of fine silks, woven and enchanted with  rune thread, her hair , short cropped remains perfect as she pushes the book across the table. Her features are flawless and do not lean towards her age. Her gaze even more cold thanks to the rich coal that lined her eyes.  Her pale blue skin had a flush of pink, and arcane runes lay dull as scars against her arms. She would and could be easily mistaken for a Kaldorei , of not for her lack of facial markings.<br/><br/>She leans back in the chair, her right leg slow to cross over her left. She stares at the girl and quirks a brow,<span style="color: #00ffff">"You are giving me very little to work with, and frankly I am more than a bit tired of how you simply half ass everything I ask of you. If you aren't going to take this seriously, how the blazes should I? It's like you are aggressively horrible at everything you do. "</span>She takes a poured glass of white wine and sips,oblivious to the fact they were in a library .<br/>Her eyes sear into the girl. She stares for long, silent moments then barks an order and slams the empty glass down,<span style="color: rgb(0, 255, 255)">"Well?!?! Speak up?!?!!" </span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>