February 29, 2012 1 Comment
Why did I leave the basin? It’s cold here. Cold cold cold. More than half this area is still covered with Scourge. Just mindlessly milling around without any purpose. I guess Scourge don’t usually have one, but moreso than usual. Like a hive of bees with no queen. Wonder if this place will ever grown back. It’s black and twisted, smells bad too. At least it’s not so bad up here. Besides the cold of course. Did I mention it’s cold? Got a heavier bag and tent, got a fire burning. Found enough dead wood to keep it going all night. Not much to eat here, have to survive on what I brought. Should have stayed in the basin. Should have told her to stay too. Other bag still smells like her, the soap she uses on her hair. Not sure what it is.
In Dalaran I bought several bundles of dried Dreamfoil. Had to look in a few shops to find it. Not dangerous really, but it has a deserved reputation for causing you to see things when the smoke is inhaled. If I was a Tauren they’d call it a “vision quest” or somesuch nonsense. I just find it helps to connect with the place I’m in, puts me more in an animal-like state, if that makes sense. Probably doesn’t. Whatever, who is going to read this?
I can see the troll structures in the distance, not sure what they are. Temples or something? Might go look tomorrow. Set up camp near the edge of this structure I’m on, I guess it was once a city. There are grooves to carry water to different parts. Pretty clever, for trolls. There’s a wall straight up and down not far from my camp. Good thing I don’t sleepwalk. Eat dried meat and cheese for dinner, I build the fire up good. I tie a bundle of the dreamfoil above it, not too low so it doesn’t burn too fast, just so it gets warm and smokes.
It doesn’t smell earthy like a lot of herbs, it’s a bright, fresh scent. I can’t describe it other than blue and
The pencil falls from his hand, landing softly in the snow. His eyes are wide, the veil of shadows pulled away, and he blinks as a fawn does when first opening his eyes.
The sky is wide and black, the dark velvet of a nightsaber, the stars are spots of white light upon its pelt. It shimmers as it runs, silent and swift, across the skies, through the Nether. It curls in upon itself, tying its body into impossible shapes, lithe and sinuous. Its lone open eye glows brilliantly, the other closed until daybreak. It is so near that he can reach out a trembling hand and feel the downy softness of it, and the mere act of touching it disrupts the shape of it, sending its outline streaming away into wisps like smoke.
The wisps reform themselves into another cat, the child of the great sky-cat, much smaller and nearer. Its eyes glow with the cold brilliance of stars. He gasps at the ethereal beauty of it.
I found you, the elf says.
No. It is I who have found you.
But I was looking–
They have sent me a fool, the cat said, with celestial disdain. Nothing but a fool.
It’s true, he cried. I am a fool.
Hm. A fool does not know he is a fool. Perhaps you are of some use.
Tell me, what is your name? I’ve never spoken to a spirit cat before.
My name, said the cat, is unimportant. You may call me what you wish.
Are you the one? asked the elf. The one from the stories?
A shiver of energy traveled through the cat’s outline, jagged for a brief moment. Yes, he said. And no. Mostly no.
I don’t understand.
Of course you don’t, said the cat patiently. Not yet.
A light snow begins to fall, and the first flakes upon his cheek stir him from the dream.