Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

A slow, wicked smile spread across Wi'thas's face. "It means, my dear Norimar, that the game is about to become far more interesting." He stepped closer to the balcony's edge, peering into the abyss with an expression of almost reverent anticipation. "The pieces are moving into place. The Bande de Serpents make their move in the human lands, stirring up chaos and drawing attention.

Meanwhile, we gather our strength here, in the shadows."

Norimar nodded slowly, his expression grim. "And Angus?"

Wi'thas shrugged, a graceful motion that belied the tension in his frame. "He'll turn up when he's needed, I'm sure. Probably covered in blood and babbling about cosmic revelations."

As if summoned by their conversation, a cold wind suddenly whipped through the chamber, extinguishing several of the ethereal lights that illuminated the ruins. Both Norimar and Wi'thas stood motionless, as a figure materialized from the darkness.

A figure stood before them, his appearance a shocking contrast to the two non-humans. He was tall and lean, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to hold the vastness of the cosmos within their depths. His clothing, once fine, was tattered and stained with substances best left unidentified.

In one hand he clutched a staff of twisted wood, in the other, a book bound in what appeared to be human skin.

"Here comes the prodigy," Wi'thas muttered, though he did not lower his weapon.

***

The port city of Harbarrstone stood as a testament to the Empire's power and reach. Its towering lighthouses and bustling wharves were a stark contrast to the ancient, eldritch ruins that Norimar and Wi'thas had recently occupied. The empire's largest port city, connected to different parts of the world through seaways. The port opens to one of the biggest oceans - Grengrave Depths.

Here, the rhythmic clanging of steam-powered cranes mingled with the cries of gulls and the shouts of sailors, creating a cacophony that was at once familiar and alien to those accustomed to the quieter corners of the Empire.

As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, an unusual hush fell over the normally raucous docklands. Workers and merchants alike paused in their labors, eyes drawn to a ship that was distinctly different from the iron-hulled steamers and rugged fishing vessels that typically crowded the harbor.

The vessel that glided into port with an almost supernatural grace was a masterpiece of magical engineering. Its hull gleamed with a pearlescent sheen that seemed to shift colors with each lap of the waves.

Sails of silvery gossamer billowed despite the lack of wind, and runes of protection and speed glowed faintly along its flanks. This was no ordinary ship, but a royal yacht from the kingdom of Wrescia, a realm renowned for its mastery of sea magic and diplomatic finesse.

As the ship docked with precision that spoke of expert magical control, a gangplank shimmed into existence, solidifying from mist into polished wood. A hush fell over the gathered crowd as the first figures began to disembark.

Leading the procession were knights unlike any seen in the Empire's lands. Their armor was a marvel of form and function, plates of enchanted steel flowing like liquid mercury with each movement. Helmets fashioned in the likeness of snarling sea beasts concealed their features, while cloaks that seemed woven from sea foam itself billowed behind them.

Each knight carried a weapon that hummed with barely contained power – swords that dripped with water that never quite reached the ground.

And then, flanked by these imposing guardians, came the true focus of all eyes on the dock.

Princess Kyra of Wrescia stepped onto Imperial soil with the poise and confidence of one born to rule. Her gown, a masterpiece of Wrescian craftsmanship, seemed to capture the very essence of the sea. Layers of diaphanous fabric in shades of blue and green shifted and swirled with each step, giving the impression that she was walking through shallow waters.

Her hair, the color of spun gold, was intricately braided and adorned with pearls and tiny shells that chimed softly with each movement.

But it was her eyes that truly captured attention. A striking amber, they held a depth and intensity that hinted at the powerful magic that ran through her veins. For the princess was not merely a political figure, but a considerable talent, trained in the secretive arts of Wrescian sorcery.

As Kyra surveyed the dock, her gaze sharp and assessing. She seemed different from the time of war, like she reached a new heights of power. She had now reached a new level in the sword prowess. The aura around her resonated with every step she took.

A portly man in the elaborate uniform of the Harbor Master scurried forward, bowing so low that his considerable belly nearly touched the ground. "Your Highness," he wheezed, clearly out of breath from his rush to greet her, "welcome to Harbarrstone. We are honored by your presence. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Kyra inclined her head graciously, her voice carrying clearly despite its soft tone. "Thank you, Harbor Master. The seas were kind, as they always were."

"Excellent, excellent," the Harbor Master bumbled, wringing his hands nervously. "Your carriage awaits, Your Highness. We've prepared the finest accommodations for your journey to the capital."

As if on cue, a magnificent carriage rolled forward. It was a work of art, all polished wood and gleaming brass, with wheels that seemed to hover just above the cobblestones. The door bore the Imperial crest, a reminder that despite the splendor of Kyra's arrival, she was now in the heart of the Empire's domain.

Kyra turned to one of her knights, speaking in a low voice that nonetheless carried an undercurrent of authority. "Captain, ensure that we reach the capital, unhindered."

The knight bowed deeply, his voice muffled but clear behind his helm. "As you command, Your Highness."

As Kyra prepared to enter the carriage, her gaze swept the crowd once more. For a brief moment, her composed expression faltered, replaced by a look of intense focus.