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Category: World of Warcraft

Northrend – Frozen Hell

Published September 8, 2009 by Leprekawn

It should be known that I dislike the snow. It gets in your shoes, makes your feet cold and stiffens the fingers. To a swordsman, a stiff hand is death. To a mage, a stiff hand is a badly fumbled spell. If we’re lucky, it’s a quick death.

And I suddenly remember Zindel. Failed to grasp the subtle context in basic conjuration. We never found the rest of him.

That being said. I liked Tanaris. Dry, windy and desolate. I found myself at home with my thoughts while travelling through Tanaris. Not something you often get when you channel raw, unbridled energy.

When I stepped off the zepplin at Vengeance Landing I was certain of two things. One, that I rather disliked the Forsaken. I promise you they smell and it’s not just the plague vats they’re constantly brewing. Two, that I hate the snow and as a secondary consideration, the cold.

I hadn’t dressed warm enough for a journey to Northrend, let alone a lengthy stay.

It wasn’t long before I’d managed to convey my situation to the Innkeep and he..sh..it provided me with a woolen underlayer to help insulate me against the cold.

But it didn’t take long for me to find the zepplin again and book a flight west, to Honor Hold. I appreciate the company of a curageous and cunning people as the Orcs. At the very least, their food is better.

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Thoughts: Of Beginnings and Journeys

Published September 8, 2009 by Leprekawn

I came to, awakening slowly, in an inn in Silvermoon. My mouth tasted of drinking and revelry.

And more bile than I care to ever experience.

It should be known that I am a mage of no small power, that any force capable of rendering me unconscious or, as it seems, forgetful of a nights’ events is a great force indeed. And so it was, that I found myself groggy, disoriented and strangely a lot taller than I had previously remembered.

Second on my list of problems, was the city itself. Silvermoon is a beautiful city full of majestic spires and elegantly carved doorways, well manicured lawns with the occasional wild bird flitting about.

My last memories were not of this city. But of another, vast and underground. A city carved of the very rock with harsh edges and an air thick with roar of commerce and the din of a large smithy.

You could ask me if such a place actually existed and I could tell you of at least a half dozen locales i’d personally visited. The problem lay where I’d last found myself before succumbing to the seductive warmth of a strong drink.

It was at this point I gave up. Memory is often released by experiences, sights or smells. So my better strategy was to take a walk and see if someone remembered me.

I found a familiar face outside. My hawkstrider Azkari chirped a friendly acknowledgement as I approached, kneeling slightly as I mounted. This was the first familiar thing I’d found since waking up. Already my day was starting to look up.

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