#Embossed Silver Sheet Covered Wooden Chair

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Embossed Silver Sheet Covered Wooden Chair

The Embossed Silver Sheet Covered Wooden Chair is a luxurious and eye-catching piece of furniture that seamlessly combines classic elegance with contemporary design. Crafted from high-quality wood, this chair is adorned with an intricate pattern of embossed silver sheets that add a touch of opulence to any space. Its comfortable and ergonomic design ensures a relaxing seating experience, making it not just a statement piece but also a practical addition to your home decor. Whether placed in a stylish living room or as a focal point in a bedroom, this chair exudes sophistication and charm. Elevate your interior design with this stunning furniture piece.

[astraves]

Counsel

Volseth lost count of the times he woke from reliving his arrest.

His body jolts, and his eyes tear open beneath the pile of blankets and sheets he’s mounded atop himself, elsewise bare as birth. Even then, he feels his skin swimming in cold, his hair a great tangled gnarl like the covers atop him. Two slits of pale white, pinprick pupils darting from one corner of the library to the other. That’s all the man had to his demesne. No boudoir, and a far cry from any den of sexual intrigue. Two dressers, a chair, an armoire, and an oval bed, all of Suramar’s make. All of it rests atop a railed, circular loft eight feet from the floor beneath it, itself suspended by more bookshelves that make a tiny, round nook underneath.

The mattress cradles him and the piles of pillows and bedclothes he’s heaped onto it, sinking just so like a bowl toward the center. The only luxury to it all save for the fact that it’s all high thread-count silk are the colors. The wood on the head- and footboards is at even height, carved to look as though it scrolls around to the back. Nothing to secure a tie to. Nothing fun. Or, what used to be at least. The whole room from its floor to ceiling some stories up swims in teals, violets, dusky blues and silver. Now and again a dash of red or orange breaks the scheme, and with the man’s fondness for candlelight, illusory points of these elements dot the walls and spaces between shelves like stars in the dusk. He scowls and timidly rolls the covers back until his torso clears the air. Sitting in a hunch, he looks around to every darkened loft and corner and shakes his head. “Why is this coming back,” he asks himself quietly as his fingers thread into his hair and tousle it out. Astraves shakes his head. He looks over to the nightstand and reaches into it, fingers delving about into the contents. He finds a pipe near the length of his forearm and rests it in his lap, then a small, lacquered wooden box. The lustre of his markings and the glow in his fingertips fades with a long sigh, shimmering motes of arcana drifting up from his body and fading into the air like embers cast from a bonfire.

This is why you go to Pandaria. His darkened fingers fumble open a packet of embossed wax paper from the box, twist and pinch a little lump of dusky madak into the pipe itself and pack the lot of it away.

It’s not the food you’re hungry for.

Volseth cradles the silver-chased pipe in his palm. The other hand eases forward, fingers snapping to set it alight. Muscles tense and ribs swell as he takes the first draw, lingering in the plunge.

Purple Lotus and tobacco, opium and sweet spices. The dreams, every recollection and agony become ethereal as his body wilts and shoulders drag.

Candy dancing across your tongue and down between your ribs to give you that sweet, dreamless sleep at last.

They leave his mind for now, drifting like the poisoned air in his lungs in twisting ribbons of violet slithering from his nose and mouth to join the chorus of dim lights and fading night above him. He sets the pipe aside after the peace of its contents settle in. Untended, it dwindles to a silent state, leaving the arcanist to his thoughts.

Come dusk, he’s due for another meeting.

For now, the last wisp curls from his dead pipe. 

Volseth shuts his eyes, and for once in what feels like an eternity, nothing waits to greet him.