I need new armor. That spellbreaker really did a number on my leathers with his fire magic last night.
Well, on my skin, too, but my companions took care of that - in very different ways…Meiliria said she knows someone “in the leather business” - and someone in the “enchants business”, so I can get my defensive enchants back up.
It will cost me, though. I hope this Krasha business pays well.
At least the healing was free.
…I think.
They did not mention any price… Luckily, the goblin was not there.
5 Likes
Bloody fel! Brand new cloak, tabard, jerkin, and shirt… Protective enchants so fresh I could almost smell them… I even bought extra fire protection after that nasty burn I got on the last mission.
And that cursed $#@¥less demon just clawed through it all! (…And my skin, but nevermind that, skin heals - especially if a companion heals it…)
…This Krasha business might actually cost me more in gear upkeep, than it pays…
Yet another bloody unfair advantage of filthy plate-wearers.
I bet Merlothien and his Light-damned paladin friends giggle their butts off while us more lightly armored, honest fighters pay hard earned money to get our protective layers in optimal condition…The next time I see someone aim a weapon or spell at me, I will throw my glaive in their face.
No more Mr. Nice Guy…
5 Likes
How…
Where to begin?
So…
I met Uda’s husband this evening. And that is the least interesting thing I will write here tonight.
It was supposed to be a Botany Band lecture about Felwort, I think, which I found interesting.
Falnar started with saying some pretty interesting things about it, but then he… channeled energy into the Felwort, and it came alive!!It attacked us (and ruined my clothes), and I fear, if Alunaria hadn’t showed up when she did, somebody might have died.
There was some material damage, but we managed to vanquish the fiend.
Then Dulvarinn was a little angry, but I hope it will work out when everyone has cooled off…
7 Likes
After bein knee-deep in dead ogres for a few hours, I tried to make camp with one of those good-for-nothin locals who’d tagged along only to run around flailing when I did all the fightin. Then two goblins saw the fire and showed up askin share the camp. The damned swineherd who’d followed me welcomed them before I could tell them to get lost.
Then a Grimtotem mongrel tried to come and say he was a refugee. I chased him away till the goblins asked to let him share the camp if he paid, and that sneaky bull brought in four mooing brats who’d been hiding and listening. I was just trying to sleep after almost gettin sumo smashed by a bunch of fat ogre corpses, but then my own campfire was surrounded by a buncha mooches talkin all night and keepin me up.
I just road out as soon as they all started to sleep. Now I be underslept, pissed off, and I be smellin like rotten meat. The hell.
6 Likes
A new entry appears in Sharon’s battered journal. There’s some visible improvement to the usually hurried handwriting.
Just as I slowly start to come to terms with the fact that Uda has about as much brains as a drowned fish, I hear a rumour about her equally dense husband unleashing aggressive fel foliage upon the guests of the Greenhouse! Holy Tides, just what is wrong with those people?
Stubborn warlocks who can’t take “no” for an answer, demon hunters throwing toddler tantrums over shirts, worgen going feral in the middle of a peaceful town, other demon hunters turning fel plants into manhunting plants… I guess it’s true what Rahuun says about only the fools turning to dark magic—the adepts I’ve met in Dalaran are like a herd of erratic toddlers armed with ticking bombs. Honestly! Makes me think we should build a creche next to the Greenhouse…
Alas, this will be Dulvarinn’s problem for the next couple of weeks. My leg had remained swollen for the entire week, so the village healer sent for a Tidesage. Surprise! My ankle is not sprained—it’s properly broken! This morning Sister Beatrice fashioned some nice driftwood into a cage of sorts (which is supposed to keep my ankle from moving), fastened it around my leg and very firmly ordered me to be extremely careful with it, as my injury is complicated enough that it could lead to a permanent limp. As I am obviously uninterested in limping for the rest of my life, I intend to take her advice very seriously. No more adventures for me until the ankle heals.
I think I will stay in Hatherford long enough to see some of my Boralus friends, but I’m worried about Dulvarinn and don’t want to leave him entirely on his own for too long. I know Kuhuine is there to handle the matters of the Greenhouse’s upkeep, but my Kaldorei teacher has been distant and miserable these past few weeks and I am concerned about him. While he is on his own when it comes to dealing with ludicrous lecturers, I can still help with some minor chores around the Greenhouse or with the paperwork—anything I can do without having to stand up.
In a few days I will ask lady Emma to help me get to Dalaran. I hope Helgi will have a good laugh once he sees the result of my amateur mountain-climbing…
6 Likes
‘My anger has now been replaced with contempt. The same question is recurrently returning to my conscience: Why did I trust Uda Dryden to assign a demon hunter to demonstrate the destructive potential of felwort in our greenhouse? The result was abysmal! A dozen of broken crystal windows, compromised structural integrity and scores of perished specimens! Three nights have now been spent on cleaning and repairs, but our entire savings of the band have been all spent and we now owe a substantial amount of gold to the Steamwheedle Cartel. I am trying to reassure Kuhuine Tenderstride about our financial possibilities, but I must admit that my own worries remain persistent as well. Elune guide us!’
6 Likes
Maradan and I were the only ones who showed up for the Jewelers gathering last night, so it was postponed to another time.
It is unfortunate, because Maradan seems very interested in lecturing about gems and minerals, and I think the absence of people makes him sad.
I think he will try again on Saturday, at six o’clock in the afternoon (or was it evening…?).
6 Likes
That Sin’dorei death knight really is a special case. I assume all death knights are some sorts of messed up in the head, but this one seems quite unique to me.
I hope the unwillingness to speak with… head doctors? will dissipate over time.
I think there are great things to learn about mental health, inside that eerily metal plated head…
Oh, and if you read my journal while I sleep; remember, you indirectly promised you wouldn’t kill me. Good night!
4 Likes
Uda comes home,tired but happy,just to find a letter to ruin the day,after reading it,and dealing with a bunch of problems,she writes the following :
I came home,after marrying two nice Pandarens,just to find this.
a letter,from my husband,about the last botany event,the band is in debt.
Uda continiues describing the letter,focusing on her husband being a moron.
a few days later,she writes :
my Husband is lucky he managed to fix it,apparently,he convinced his fellow illidari the demon plant wasnt his fault,but a problem coming from withing the illidari,I do not know details,but Illdan stormrage himself made sure to pay for the greenhouse fixing…
Lucky him.
3 Likes
Drazuul knelt down to better examine the plant. Gently, he rubbed the curling green herb between his fingers before carefully cutting a portion. His hand resting on his knee in support, he hoisted himself to his feet with no small amount of audible cracking from his tired joints. He wasn’t getting any younger and he could feel it more and more every day. The Adder’s Tongue was helping though. Putting a spring back in to his step. Not the most powerful of Voodoo, but a relief none the less. He’d need it in the times to come.
5 Likes
Two nights ago, my own camp got hit by a flash flood. The rain wasn’t that heavy, but it got heavy enough to nearly drown me and my boar. I had to carry the pig up the thickets patch of trees I could find, and we waited it out for the better part of a day…too many crocolisks before the water level dropped again.
I salvaged this journal, a chunk of coal to write with, and one dinner fork. This is gonna set me back a day or two before I can get home. It be humblin…nature be more dangerous than anythin else.
4 Likes
I inquired, but - perhaps unsurprisingly -
The Black Harvest will not contribute to the repair of the Greenhouse,
because the incident was ultimately caused by someone not of The Black Harvest.
They did not disagree that my spellwork probably contributed to the material damage,
but as they rightfully pointed out,
I was not there on official Black Harvest business,
so any damage I caused would be my own personal responsibility…I dread asking The Botany Band what the repairs amounted to, but I do feel somewhat responsible.
I may have to take on some odd jobs to make some money…
5 Likes
Chatted ta me captain about the Hand t’other day. Dexie seemed proper chuffed I was gettin’ in with ‘em so well. Glad ta see I wasn’t missin’ Bear and the ship so bad!
The Captain’s good ta me. Always was, even afore we proper knew each other. Meetin’ in Booty Bay was a nice surprise!
But Dexie told me summat’s stirin’ nearby Eversong. Since I’m stackin’ there with Fig an’ our girl Rascal, figured I should poke me nose inta it. I will, says I.
Best ya keep ya whiskers clean and ya ears down, says Dexie. Told the Captain proper straight. I says, Ya know me Cap, never one for trouble!
Dexie only laughed at us.
Bear had naught ta say as per usual. Just gave me that look with those cold eyes. But he ruffled me hair all the same. Good bloke, Bear. Bless him.
5 Likes
Azsharan Bluevine Mead - 2 Caskets
Wildflower Honey Mead - 6 Bottles
Greypeak Ale - 1 KegSilvermoon Harbour, “Naravel”
He brews and trades in meads and ales
3 Likes
Second day since the flash flood…I know I be close to home, but the flood affected the marsh at different levels, so I can’t be walk-in a straight line. Half the time I be carrying my boar, and I don’t even know who be the mount and who be the rider anymore, the fat coward.
There’s a straight line across the page; the proceeding handwriting is sloppier and rushed.
We be up in another tree for now. The water rose again, which not be a big deal, but the movement’s got me worried. I know a crocolisk when I see one, and I know hands when I see them. Every so often, I see hands in the mud flows and dirty water. These not be carrion; they were moving. Too much moving beneath the surface. The pig be freakin out…I’m gonna a strip whatever branches I can and sharpen them just in case. This not feel right.
4 Likes
I need to ask Krasha if he has a leatherworker working for him, these repair costs are getting ridiculous.
At least I got to stab the bastard who burned me.
Bloody crazy necromancers…
4 Likes
Somewhere in Kalimdor, a certain Vulpera makes herself comfortable in a tiny tent and skims through the pages of a thick journal that still smells somewhat new. Its contents are mostly of vaguely artistic nature—portraits, landscapes, objects, animals—with short notes peppering the pages here and there.
Page 1 to 3
This little book is the first thing I have bought after setting paw on western soil. It belongs to the new world and now it also belongs to me. May it be a bridge between myself and these strange people and their even stranger culture.
<A large picture of a Zandalari ship. Several sketches of various Vulpera, Tortollans and Zandalari trolls. A panoramic drawing of the Bladefist Bay.>
Page 4 to 10
How do people not suffocate here? The air is still and burning with trapped heat. Buildings—heavy buildings made from rock and steel and spikes—swell in clusters like blood-gorged ticks on a mangy hyena. This entire city crawls and twitches, never silent, never still. The hum of it makes my head hurt.
<A large and detailed drawing of the main gate of Orgrimmar, followed by many quick sketches of the city’s many districts.>
Page 11
People of this city seem reluctant to trade. I saw a purple baldskin crafting baskets—wide, strong, shiny baskets, made from fibers I have never seen before—and asked her if she would trade a basket for one of the krolusk plates I brought from Vol’dun. The weaver laughed and said: What use do I have for this chitin? Bring me two gold and the basket is yours.
I walked away. Down the street I found a green baldskin who traded my krolusk plates for a bag of metal coins. I brought them to the weaver and this time she exchanged a few dozen silver coins for a basket without a word of complaint.
What a weird custom.
At least the basket fits my backpack just perfectly.
< A portrait of a smiling Nightborne.>
Page 12 and 13
Copper, silver, gold—these are the things that make the city go round. Some merchants are willing to barter, but using those metal coins is much easier. By now I know that yesterday I sold my chitin for a very fair price. My new basket, as it turns out, is a luxury good made by long-eared witches who dwell in a sparkling city far away. I could have easily asked for twenty reed baskets in its place. It was a very costly lesson that was important to learn.
At least once I return to Vol’dun an exotic basket like this will be a shining star of every market.
<A meticulously drawn picture of a fancy-looking Shalassian basket. A large sketch of the Drag’s main street.>
Page 14 to 16
Today I visited the Embassy. An incredibly fat man with very small ears and a stub of a tail greeted me and invited me inside, where he talked about the Horde and the city itself. I learned that pooping on the ground is not allowed in Orgrimmar, even if you bury the hole right after.
<A very large drawing of the Embassy, followed by a much smaller drawing of an outhouse.>
He gave me things and did not demand anything in return. Many of his gifts were practical, but ultimately of no use to me—a bag, a blanket, a water skin, a map… all the things I already had. I will keep the rations and a compass (for I am not yet familiar with the stars here), and see if I can exchange the rest for coins.
< A portrait of an amiable Pandaren. A few sketches of various locations scattered around the Valley of Spirits.>
Page 17
Life in Orgrimmar is almost disturbingly easy. It is warm enough to sleep outside, even at night. The nearby cliffs are teeming with prey—rats, birds, lizards. On one side of the city there’s an ocean and on the other a river, both ripe with water-dwelling creatures. Sprawling gates and numerous guards keep the citizens safe from predators and enemies.
I am a little uncomfortable with how incredibly decadent Orgrimmar is.
<A sprawling sketch of Orgrimmar, the angle of which implies it was drawn from the great heights of the ramparts.>
Page 18 to 23
The well-being of my people depends on influence and influence depends on prosperity. The only way for us to survive is to be useful enough to the Horde, because there is strength in numbers. Should we grow complacent, other groups will take priority over us.
We must not grow complacent.
The Horde—and Azeroth itself—is ripe with opportunity. After spending only a few weeks here I am already keenly aware of how dangerous stagnation can be. Maybe it would have been better if the world had never noticed us and allowed us to continue as we were, but such deliberations are not mine to make. What is done is done and now it is time to adapt.
<A long series of sketches featuring the Horde’s many member races.>
Page 24
Today I got my first job in Orgrimmar. An elderly troll’s jewellery was stolen by the black sheep of her family and she wanted the trinkets back. She gave me a shawl that carried the culprit’s scent. I inhaled deeply and memorized the smell, then I gave the cloth to Ash to do the same.
I followed the scent to the northern gate and then into the dry plains of the land known as Azshara. I found the treacherous youngster in a smelly city. He was in a good mood which I was happy to spoil. He did not fear me, but Ash is far more intimidating.
The jewellery was taken by a green baldskin—one of the small ones—in exchange for a sack of coins. I sent the youngster back to the store to try and get them back, but the merchant would not accept the coins back—he instead demanded twice their weight for the jewels.
I took the troll’s coins, went to the baldskin’s store and plucked the trinkets out of the display case without the merchant noticing.
I hid the coins before the troll noticed and marched him back to his grandmother. When I returned the jewellery to the old one she gave me another sack of coins and waved me away. Before her house disappeared from view I saw her hitting her grandchild with a broom. Serves him right, the nasty thief.
Page 25 to 47
<Many, many, many drawings of various locations scattered across Durotar, Azshara, and the Barrens. Portraits of the local people. Sketches of different animals. At least three different pictures of the same tiny tent in different.>
Page 48
Incredible how much work there is for a tracker. Lost spouses. Lost children. Bandits, thieves, victims. They all have people who will pay well for a sensitive nose to track them down.
Even the inns are not safe from spontaneous employment. Tonight I went to The Wyvern’s Tail with the sole intent of getting a few drinks, and I left with yet another job—the biggest one so far. A beige baldskin promised to pay me well for finding practitioners of evil magic. This will keep me busy for a while, as there are several leads I can follow. Tomorrow I will deposit most of my coin at the bank and ride west.
< A sketchy portrait of Nlaea Lightstrider.>
8 Likes
Sometimes I wish I was a paladin.
“Stay here, Morfinn. We wouldn’t want the beast to get agitated by your undeath…”
And when the beast attacked, I was about as useful as a fishing bobber.
The Light-damned anguish of seeing my comrades being attacked by a beast the size of a bloody HOUSE… Smacked around like they were flaming ants!
And knowing I couldn’t engage the beast, because someone needed it alive…
(And I needed myself to stay al… Not entirely just dead…)
8 Likes
I am … not the sharpest tool in the shed.
I mean… I can be pretty sharp, and my glaives are, too - but it seems I am not a brilliant strategist, nor a genious tactician.We found the infuriating Arcanist what’s-her-name tonight, and prepared to demolish her. She was incredibly annoying, with her megalomaniac sinister plans, and her mad, cackling laugh…
It took me a while to realize the implications of this, but; she froze our … benefactor, and shattered him (which, I will assume, killed him).
Despite Glysra and me wanting very much to kill the arcanist; when we all realized that she could kill us just as easily as she killed our “benefactor”, we retreated.
5 Likes
Had me first mission with the Hand t’other day. Realised I needed ta pull meself together - goin’ in with a rubber fish? Madness! I dunno how I’ve managed ta last this long. Managed ta find a lil axe-gun in me pack but it broke pretty quickly.
Realisin’ this, I headed back to Orgrimmar quicksharp like, barterin’ for bits and pieces to arm meself. Got some new mail trousers and boots, and an axe! The wolf fur I wear ain’t too bad, but naught else seemed to fit me. The smithy took one look at me.
Ain’t got things fer children, he says. I shoot back, ya armin’ gobbos, ain’t ya? Arm me, then!
He grumbled a right storm at that, but I managed ta weedle some bits and pieces outta him. When I get more gold I’ll get somethin’ proper - a nice hammer, I think.
Still. I can’t get that Faceless beast outta me head, or those poor souls in the stables. Didn’t know I was goin’ head first inta fightin’ proper evil. I ain’ like Dexie, fightin’ in the Pits, and I don’t got the brawn of Ohru turnin’ into a big ol’ bear or punchin’ proper hard with his monk skills. Made me realise I got a lot ta learn.
…Should I tell the Keeper I ain’t ever killed no one before?
8 Likes