A doodle of Prof.Draenya🐉 from my web comic 🌟The Witch's Lantern🌟

quick Draenya doodle

a Draenya in inkktober style.  been fightin’ with this; i just want one good picture of Drae haha. I have none T_T

Draenya of the Wandering Isle

Former Auchenai Prelate-in-training who barely avoided the fate of her fellows and found new meaning in the way of the Warrior Monk. 

1. Quick Character portrait 2. In Game Model Drae is a capable-looking Draenei, if a little short. She keeps her armor unadorned and while she maintains cleanliness and neatness, she wears no makeup or jewelry to keep up appearances. 

Those who crashed on the Exodar should recognize her as a comrade. However, at that time Draenya was simply an archivist and librarian. She formerly served as an anchorite of Auchindoun, but showed no priestly talent and was eventually relegated to more clerical duties.

Those of the Wandering Isle or the Temple of the White tiger might recognize her as one of the Draenei who came to Pandaria when the mists rose. Draenya learned the way of the monk quickly, taking to it like a fish to water.

Draenya Drabble

Just Getting into Character with a short drabble. Drae’s a Draenei monk.  Miss Sinerea and Master Steelblossom are both too kind. Draenya wanders away from their home two books heavier with an excellent cookie in hand and tries to puzzle out what she might do for them to return their kindnesses. Drae does two things well; punching and research. Sometimes both at the same time. Unfortunately, she thinks Master Steelblossom has all the necessary punching well in hand, and Miss Sinerea the research. She’s so lost in her musings that she makes it halfway to the Inn in Old Town before she realizes she never took out any appropriations to stay there.  

She has the money she took out for the books, but that money is specifically budgeted for books, and not an inn. She can’t justify misusing it; especially not while she’s acting head of the library. A misstep like that, and no one will ever listen to her about misuse of appropriations again.  

She hasn’t caught more than a quick nap in three days, so she doesn’t think heading home in the dark makes for the best idea. Certainly, the spirit meditation that allows them to translocate to the isle is useful, but it also drains the user and she knows that right now she can’t manage the kind of deep focus such a thing takes.  

Draenya stuffs the last of the cookie in her mouth, recognizing with a distant sense of alarm that it’s the first thing she’s eaten in a day or two. She’s always had issues keeping track of time with a project in her hands, but somehow this slip seems worse than usual. She should rest and reset, get herself back on track before she returns to the mess she left at her library.  

Well. No inn, no bed, but Stormwind affords guards and safety and the summer breeze blows warm against her face. She meanders on unsteady legs back toward the lake, trying to remember when she started to feel so very tired. The park or the Cathedral might serve as safe enough spaces to rest in public, but the sheer volume of foot traffic makes her wary of lingering long. She follows an instinct long ingrained, trailing through the cemetery with prayers for those resting within spilling halting and half-forgotten from her lips. 

It doesn’t matter. The cemetery rings with silence, and Draenya has no discomfort with the dead. She finds a tree with a wide trunk near the walls of Stormwind to shelter under and lies down beneath its boughs. On her side, she nestles into the roots and stares out at the stone silhouettes jutting up from the earth nearby. The sky is a deep, steel grey behind them, clouds lit by the lights of the city. She has no idea what hour of the night she’s impressed herself upon Miss Sinerea and Master Steelblossom, but she hopes not too late.  

Research notes and the Thalassian books she can’t read press uncomfortably into her sides, but she dares not remove her bags. She shuffles positions instead, wondering when it was she last spent a night in the open. Surely it can’t have been all that long ago, but for some reason she can only recall the days just after the Exodar’s crash. The sky had shone steel grey with smoke then too, the land foreign and hostile. She’d been weak and defenseless, herded along with the other civilians like children, sleeping restless nights on the hard, damp ground as the vindicators stood guard in shifts. They’d slept outside for weeks or months, either in trying to reach the Exodar from their crash sites or waiting for it to be livable again. She’d hated every minute then, still busy lamenting the loss of the temple—the loss of the only life she’d known.  

Draenya closes her eyes, breathes deep, shakes the memory away. She is not that person any longer. Her armor hangs heavy on her form, a reminder that she no longer needs anyone’s protection. What she needs is to sleep—she needs to get back to the antiquities collection still unsorted and the diaries of ShaoHao still without transcription. She slips into dreaming and watches the rows of tombs arrange themselves like a shelf of books, an endless library of the untold stories of the dead.