[Story] Story a Week – Imp

Xanaroth held his breath as the portal opened, fel-green smoke swirling through the room. Though Elara was safely upstairs, there was always still that moment of danger before whatever it was stepped through the portal. Felarius wasn’t powerful enough to open large portals, but that wouldn’t stop something that was really determined to get through. Most demons, though, preferred to stay in their own realm. Imps were generally a bit easier to coax over — and they never seemed to guess ahead of time what lay ahead of them.

Felarius, his summoning student, shook faintly with the effort of maintaining the spell, his eyes fixed on the demonic portal. He had made great progress in the past few months, and Xanaroth felt he was ready to work with his first demon. Of course, that meant he had to summon it first. For a few long seconds, he believed nothing would happen. Though the portal had opened, perhaps there was something wrong; a rune slightly smudged or the angle just slightly wrong. But Felarius’s rune drawings had been immaculate. He’d copied them over and over in his books and was meticulous about his work — more so than Xanaroth himself had been at that age. The Twisting Nether teemed with demons, especially the little imps, which traveled in swarms for protection from their larger cousins. Was it possible that they were all in another spot?

A tiny hand appeared from the portal, followed by a wobbly oversized head. The imp stepped warily out of the portal and into the rune that Felarius had drawn on the workroom floor.

“Now,” Xanaroth said, and Felarius let the spell drop, the portal collapsing in on itself with an audible fizzle.

The imp, now alarmed, attempted to flee, but the magic circle held it in place. As it realized this, its panic grew and it began to shriek, flinging itself against the magical barrier.

Felarius frowned faintly. “Is it supposed to do that?” he whispered to Xanaroth.

The older summoner nodded. It wasn’t unusual at all for demons to resist binding. Once it accepted its fate, however, it would be easier to work with. And for imps, the protection of a warlock was preferable than being eaten by a larger demon. “Ask for its name,” Xanaroth reminded Felarius quietly.

“Imp,” Felarius announced. “You will give me your name.”

The imp cowered at the edge of the rune, its little clawed hands over its large ears. It wouldn’t matter; the rune that Felarius had drawn compelled it to obey. “D-dagtuk!” it screeched. Xanaroth hoped it wasn’t going to scream like that all of the time. It hurt his ears, and it would likely wake Elara.

He had also had Felarius practice the binding spell repeatedly. Any error there could cause the binding to weaken over time, putting the summoner at risk. As Felarius recited the binding spell, shadowy shackles formed around the imp’s wrists and ankles. “Dagtuk, I bind you to my bidding,” he said, and the imp whimpered quietly, but seemed to have calmed down, at least.

Xanaroth walked the perimeter of the rune, checking for any errors and inspecting the imp’s bindings. He was well aware that any mistake he overlooked would put his student in danger, so he took his time to see that everything was done correctly. Felarius watched him anxiously. At last he nodded. “Break it,” he instructed Felarius. With his boot, he smudged away one of the runes of the binding circle on the floor. Dagtuk crept warily to the spot and stuck his arm out tentatively. When nothing happened, the imp crawled slowly out of the circle to crouch at Felarius’s feet. For the first time, his student allowed himself a smile. “It worked,” he said, sounding a little amazed. “Can I pick it up?”

“Of course,” said Xanaroth. “Don’t lose it. Or if you do, you remember the recall spell?”

“I won’t,” Felarius said, touching the imp’s head gingerly. “And I do.”

As Xanaroth had expected, the imp calmed down once it realized that it wasn’t in immediate danger. It would still be curious about its new surroundings, and cause trouble if not supervised, but in time it might even grow fond of its master. Once it got a taste of proper food, it would never want to leave.


[Story] Story a Week – Bird

[[ I guess this is kind of a horror story, how do you make a bird scary though? What about something he’s seen before? ]]

“Stooooooop,” the parrot croaked as Carol walked past its perch. It was an Amazon, a riot of bright green, topped with yellow and blue. Carol did as the bird demanded, pausing to look it over. Its eyes were bright and mischievous. Her grandmother was a bird lover, her sitting room alive with color and their calls. She’d recently passed, and her birds gone to a rescue organization in her town, but it had got Carol thinking about getting one of her own. She’d been told to start small, perhaps a cockatiel or lovebird, but something drew her to the larger birds. They seemed so wild and alien, little dinosaurs who could clutch things in their scaly feet, and she admitted the idea of a bird who could talk tickled her. If nothing else, she’d have someone to talk to at home. She worked from home, and was well past the age that she worried about meeting someone and having kids. A bird might be just the company she needed.

The bird sidled down the perch, cocking its head at her. “Stooooop,” it said again.

“You’re insistent, aren’t you?” Carol asked. She leaned in closer to read the weathered paper tag attached to the perch, but its ink was faded and appeared to have got wet at some point. “What’s this one’s name?” she asked the teenager behind the counter.

“What’s your name,” the bird rumbled in answer, grinding its beak. “Paco.”

“Yeah, that’s Paco,” the kid said. “We just got him in a few weeks ago. He’s a rescue.”

“Oh?” Carol was intrigued. “Do you know anything else about him?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t. Animal control brought him in to see if we could find him a new owner. I guess they don’t have facilities for birds. Seems well-behaved though.”

Carol extended a cautious hand, and Paco regarded it a moment before extending a scaly foot and climbing up onto it. She gave a little gasp of surprise.

“See, he likes you.”

She smiled at the bird perched on her hand. “I guess you made the decision, then.”

It took several trips to bring all of Paco’s supplies in from her car. There was an enormous cage that Carol was sure could fit several toddlers, a wooden perch, and a bag of pellets. Not to mention all of the toys, water dishes, and various supplements she’d got to keep Paco healthy. Birds were definitely not a cheap hobby. But once she got everything set up, Paco seemed perfectly content in his new home, grooming his wing with his curved beak.

“Are you hungry, Paco? I’m going to make some dinner.”

“Stoooooop,” Paco said. It seemed he liked that one.

Birds needed fresh vegetables and fruits, so she chopped some of her salad ingredients and put them in Paco’s dish. He squished and explored everything in the same way she’d seen babies do, getting it all over his feet and beak. Carol sat down in front of the television to eat her own dinner.

“Stoooooop,” Paco muttered over his dish. “Don’t come in.”

Carol raised a curious brow and looked at Paco. “Everything okay, buddy?”

The parrot stretched his neck and wings. “Don’t come in!”

While it was a little unsettling, Carol didn’t think the bird was actually in any distress, just repeating something he’d heard before. She cleaned up her dishes and covered Paco’s cage for the night.

A shrill scream jolted her out of bed in the morning, high-pitched and intense. It was Paco, his cage cover lay on the floor and he was staring out the window. “Please,” Paco croaked, hardly a whisper. Carol’s ears still rang from the bird’s all too human scream. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I won’t, Paco,” Carol said, picking up the cage cover from the floor and folding it. “But I need you to stop screaming like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Hello?” Paco said.

That was better, that was normal parrot stuff. “Hello,” Carol replied.

“Hello, 9-1-1? There’s someone in my house,” Paco chattered. “He’s right outside the door.”

[Story] Story a Week – Extinct

[[ I’ve actually been considering a Nano about smilodons and other pre-historic mammals for a while, so when I saw this week’s word I knew just what I wanted to write about! ]]

White Flash paused to watch her cubs as they travelled across the rock beds. They were playing, as cubs often do, blissfully unaware of the severity of their journey. The nights were getting cold, even in the safety of their den. Winter with its chilling winds and scarcity of food would be upon them shortly, and the cubs were still too thin for their mother’s liking. When very young she had lost entire litters to the perils of winter, and did not wish to repeat her mistake again. But the summer and autumn had been lean, and hunting not as good. What little they had found were ground prey, mainly the fat little rodents that burrowed beneath the grasses. Cubs needed proper meat to get fat and healthy. White Flash worried that they may be her last; while life on the plains was dangerous enough that death might come at any moment, she had lived a long time. She was uncertain if she would raise more cubs, or even if she wished to. She felt so tired of late, down within her bones, and it only seemed to persist as time went on.

“Come, cubs,” she called to them, lifting her head for a better look. They had found something — alive perhaps? That was doubtful. The rock beds were only the path to their destination, few plants grew here and fewer animals. It could be a snake, they had not yet burrowed beneath the ground for the winter. Three of this litter had survived thus far: Smoke, the darker male, and his brother Echo, who followed him everywhere. The female was Dusty, her tawny hide speckled with spots. White Flash had the most hope for that one — bold and brave, already she showed skill at hunting insects or small rodents. It was she who had discovered something among the shattered rocks.

“Dusty found a bone,” announced Smoke.

White Flash blinked in disbelief. A bone, here? It could have been left by some long-ago hunter, or perhaps a bird had dropped it, trying to crack it open on the sharp stones. She approached the cubs curiously, lowering her muzzle to sniff at it. Sure enough, it was a bone, but embedded deep within the ground. There was no way it had been left here, at least not in recent times. It had no scent, and any marrow that might have been within was long gone. And it was big, larger than any that White Flash had seen. The mammoths that moved in great herds across the plains were big, but she was certain this bone was too large even for them. It was not from a sloth, nor a wolf. She frowned thoughtfully.

Dusty gnawed at the rounded end, where it had once joined to another bone in the animal’s skeleton. Though her small teeth made no marks upon its surface, she did not appear ready to give up just yet. “What is it, mama?” asked Echo, sitting on his haunches beside Smoke.

“I- I’m not certain,” White Flash said. She walked the length of it, studying its shape. Still nothing came to mind.

“Is it a monster?” Dusty asked, breathless.

Smoke scoffed. “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

“Then what is it!” Dusty demanded. “Even mama doesn’t know!”

White Flash turned her ears uncertainly, listening for anything strange in the area — footsteps or the clatter of stones. She heard nothing, nor smelled anything. There was a mark left by a male passing through — Three Toe — but it was long faded. If there was some monster here, it left no trace. Still, something about the bone made her feel uneasy — both the uncertainty and the reminder of mortality — her own, and her cubs’. This was not some prey animal, destined to fall beneath their fangs. No, something this large had to have been the undisputed predator of this realm, facing any threat unafraid. To it, they would be merely pests to be swatted aside.

“Leave it,” White Flash said quietly. “Let it rest in peace.”

Dusty cast the bone a last curious glance, but did as her mother asked, falling into line behind her as they made their way across the rock beds. Beyond lay a valley, and with it, White Fang hoped, the prospect of a good hunt.

[Story] Story a Week – Snail

Terellion and Malwen gathered burlap bags of fallen leaves and dead twigs, bundling and tying them up to be burned later. The grounds and gardens needed to be cleared of debris before the masked ball, and it also made for less work next spring — otherwise all of that old vegetation would rot beneath the winter snows. Terellion clipped the errand branches of the hedge maze with his clippers, and Malwen followed behind gathering up the sticks. She’d finished her schoolwork for the day and eagerly ran outside to help with “outside stuff”. She had a pair of overalls and her own little work boots so she wouldn’t get any of her dresses muddy. He thought before long, she might be able to help in the greenhouse with some of the older students, she would probably learn a lot about plants.

They finished trimming the hedge maze, removing the dead flowers from around the fountain, and put all of the fallen leaves into bags. No doubt there would be more soon, but it looked tidy for the time being. Terellion checked the greenhouse for leaks or breaks in the glass, and then it was time to clean out the garden. This late in the season, there were no edible vegetables or herbs left, they had all either flowered to seed or withered in the late summer heat. The only thing still growing was the row of plump orange pumpkins, which would soon be carved and cut up for pies. He started at one end and set Malwen at the other, pulling up the droopy greens and half-eaten roots. It was a little sad to see the garden end, but they would re-plant it again in the spring, and the vegetables would grow anew. They might even need to expand, given how many staff and students were living here now — not to mention those that brought food home. He knew some of them did that, Aeramin for one, sometimes others as well. Tik encouraged the growing of fresh produce here at the school, not only did it cost less, but they were fresher as well. Terellion left the little wooden markers in place, though he had a chart drawn inside showing where to put everything. They might need something different, or more space for one crop.

“Ann’da!” Malwen cried, crouched over a leaf. “What is this? Is it a snail?”

Terellion put down his rake and went over to look.

“That’s a snail, all right. He’s eating the leaves, see the little holes where he’s already been?” Malwen nodded. “We should probably move him off, since there won’t be any food here soon.”

She stared at him. “So he’s just going to starve to death?”

“Well, he’s a wild animal. He has to find his own food.”

Malwen frowned thoughtfully. “What does he eat in the winter then?”

Terellion shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The little girl dropped her little shovel and ran out to the greenhouse, emerging a short time later with a glass jar and lid. She plucked a few of the leaves from the plant and put them into the jar. Then, carefully, she picked the snail up by its shell and set it inside as well.

Hethurin wouldn’t like a snail inside at all, but he knew better than to try to argue with Malwen when her mind was made up. “He’ll need some holes in the lid, so he can breathe. Let’s go do that, we need a hammer and nail.”

At dinner, Malwen set the jar with the snail on the table, until Terellion encouraged her to set it beneath her chair. If Hethurin didn’t have a fit about it, Tik surely would. From time to time, Malwen would pick up the jar and drop a piece of vegetable into it. He wasn’t sure that snails would eat cooked vegetables, but admittedly he didn’t know much about snails. Later that evening, she marched into Hethurin’s library and demanded a book. About snails. He didn’t have one specifically, but he lent her a book on the native wildlife of the region, and that seemed to satisfy her request.

The next afternoon, they were tying up the bushes to prepare them for wintering. They would be covered with a layer of burlap to help insulate them from the cold and snow. “How is your snail?” Terellion asked.


“Does he have a name yet?” Malwen named every single one of her dolls, her soft animals, and sometimes even furniture. Surely the snail would have earned one.

“She,” Malwen corrected him. “Her name is Shelley.”

“Oh? It’s a lady snail?”

Malwen nodded. “She has eggs, that’s how I know.” She held up the jar for him to see, and sure enough, there were dozens of perfectly round, translucent eggs hidden beneath one of the leaves. How was he going to explain a baby snail invasion?


[Story] Story a Week

[[ Don’t remember what week it is, so I’m leaving off the number. I didn’t use a prompt this week because I already knew what I wanted to do! ]]

Sullivan let his illusion dissipate as he entered the cool dark of the tavern. It was on the forest floor, open to any and all travelers, including the less pleasant kind. But that was exactly the sort he sought today. His eyes scanned the chairs and benches, searching for the one he had summoned here to meet him. Sullivan acted on his own, without the council’s knowledge or approval. But something had to be done. The hunters had scoured the forest and found nothing, not one sign of where the rogue wizard had gone. Perhaps they were content to believe that he had moved on, but Sullivan would not. He could not. His black ears pinned back briefly at the memory, but he shook it away. There in the corner, that had to be her, the one who called herself the Scarlet Moon.

He had expected her to be intimidating. Anyone who hunted people for money had to be. And he knew that fenlings were large, they had passed through their city often enough. But even slouched in the corner, hidden in the shadows, this one was enormous. She had to be at least triple Sullivan’s size, perhaps even larger. She wore oiled leather armor, studded with metal, and wore one blade that Sullivan could see. No doubt there were several others hidden. The mark of Ramador, the War-Bringer, had been burned into the flesh around her right eye. Sullivan could not even imagine how much it must have hurt. She sniffed the air toward him as he approached and grunted.

“Where is my coin?”

Sullivan crawled onto the bench across from her, suddenly feeling very small indeed. He untied the pouch of silver from his waist and set it on the table. “That’s the deposit,” he said, nudging it closer carefully with a paw. He was honestly afraid she might leap across the table and bite him. “And expenses. The rest will be–”

The fenling put down her drink, her tongue licking over her fangs, and picked up the bag. “This isn’t much,” she said.

Sullivan knew it wasn’t. Without the council’s backing, the fee was being shouldered by himself alone. He’d had to sell some of his books even to raise what she was now holding in her enormous paw. But she had agreed to meet and come all this way, which meant she would likely agree to take the job. Or so he hoped. “W-what else would you want?” he asked, half afraid of the answer.

Her yellow eyes held him firmly, like a mouse beneath a predator’s paw. Sullivan was suddenly thankful he was not the one who would be facing her down unexpectedly.

“Interesting question,” she said, scratching her chin. He had got a better look at her when she leaned forward into the light. Her fur was a non-descript mixture of browns, blacks, and white. It would be difficult for anyone to describe, which Sullivan supposed could be useful. But she was by no means forgettable. “No more coins?”

Sullivan shook his head. “There are spells,” he said hurriedly. “For your weapon. Or other things. Very useful.”

The fenling’s nose crinkled up into a hint of a snarl, and he worried again that she might bite him. Or simply swallow him whole. “No tricks, asenji.”

“It’s not a trick! Perfectly safe, I swear. I doubt anyone in your pack has something like–”

Her muzzle lifted further, showing her gleaming fangs. “No pack.”

Sullivan exhaled a breath. Of course she had no pack, it made sense. She hunted alone because she didn’t need anyone else. “Still,” he said weakly. “Consider it.”

She did, studying the little pouch of coins for several long seconds, before she scooped it up and dropped it into her pack. “Dead or alive?” she asked.

He had considered this question already, before he’d even made the decision to take matters into his own hands. Did he want Harvian to die? Yes, of course. But death would be over quickly. He wanted Harvian to suffer as he had, to regret his actions for the rest of his miserable days. “Alive, if you can,” Sullivan said. “But kill him if you must. I just want him.”

The Scarlet Moon rose within the darkened tavern and extended her paw to Sullivan. “It will be done,” she said, and he thought was certain he heard pleasure in her voice.

[Story] Story a Week – Rewrite

[[ I lost track of what number it is, haha. This week’s word was ‘rewrite’ and I got to thinking about how sometimes we drastically change the story as it’s being written. What if the story was changing itself? ]]

This story takes place in a land unlike our own, with dragons and other fantastical creatures, and magic was part of ordinary life. Our hero wasn’t a typical hero, either. He wasn’t terribly tall, he worked in the King’s stables, and couldn’t even pick up a sword. Nevertheless,

Wait a minute. None of that is true.

Of course it’s true, I should know, I’m the writer after all.

But I’m the one in the story! I’ll have you know I’m very tall, and I could pick up two swords if I wanted to. Also every girl giggles at me. The stable part is true though.

Very well. Moving on… His name was Jarin,


His name was Josson, and he was preparing the King’s horses for the big tournament. It was being held in just a few days to find the bravest and strongest in the land. It was said he would choose a new knight from the winners, but others wondered if there might be more at stake. His eldest daughter, the princess, had not yet chosen a suitor and

Put that the King looks like a frog.

He doesn’t look like a frog!

His eyes stuck out either way and his head squishes back into his neck. Hopefully the princess’s doesn’t. I’d rather be chosen to kill the dragon, anyway.

Wait, what dragon?

An enormous black dragon lives in the hills, at first it just kept stealing cows and sheep but now people are going missing too. So someone needs to kill it. That person is going to be me.

Right, so as Josson brushed each horse’s hide until it gleamed, he dreamed of the tournament with its clashing steel and fluttering flags. He was no knight, but he had a plan to enter by trickery, hiding another knight’s armor while he was drinking and

That would never work, first of all, what if it didn’t fit properly?


Armor isn’t like a hat, you can’t just expect it to fit you perfectly, it’s made just to fit you and there’s a hundred little buckles to do besides. I doubt I could put it all on in time without this other knight noticing.

All right smart guy, then how are you getting into the tournament?

Since Josson was in fact a clever guy, he had started taking bits and pieces from the armory here and there. Just enough that no one would notice a glove here, or a leg guard there. He polished everything up as best he could and painted his shield with a crest that wasn’t from anyone around. They would just guess that he was a wandering horseman from a nearby kingdom, come to win the tournament.

I thought you said it wouldn’t fit properly?

It’s not a perfect fit, but Josson was sure to take pieces that were close to his size, sometimes switching them for another if needed. And he practiced putting it on so he would be ready when the day came.

Fine, what about his horse?

Josson had no need of a horse, because he had in fact struck a deal with the dragon. ‘Carry me in the tournament,’ he told the dragon. ‘And I shall see that you are not killed.’

Oh, please.

Being a sensible dragon, he had agreed to this arrangement. He only took sheep and cattle out of hunger, and he assured Josson it was not he who was taking villagers, but a giant. With Josson’s help, they could strike down the giant and the kingdom would no longer be in danger. Josson assured the dragon that he would be well fed, and they could share whatever treasure the giant might have gathered.

Unless Josson decided to kill the dragon and keep all of the treasure himself.

Josson knew that a dragon was a powerful ally indeed, and also, he was a man of his word who wouldn’t give up his principles for a little gold. So, on the morning of the tournament, Josson strapped himself into his armor and hiked up to the mountain of the dragon’s lair. Which, by the way, was not at all easy wearing armor. He climbed onto the dragon’s scaly back

What was his name? The dragon.

Oh, Athis.

Just Athis?

Hold on, let me ask him. Athis, the Mysterious One.

Of course.

Like a shadow over the sun, Athis the Mysterious One glided down from the mountain and onto the tournament field, where gasps arose from the crowd. Never had they seen a dragon of such deadly grace and lethal beauty. His eyes burned like embers, and smoke rose from his nostrils. He and Josson stared down all challengers.

All right, move it along.

Everyone was too scared to fight them and the King declared Josson the winner anyway.  He got a silver cup and then he took off his helmet and everyone was surprised and said, ‘Oh! It’s Josson!’

I’ll bet they said ‘Who is that?’ instead.

Okay, some did. But Athis ate those people.

I thought you said he didn’t eat people.

Yeah, he didn’t really. But he snorted some fire at them.

Let’s finish this up, what happened to Josson and Athis and the princess?

The princess really did look like a frog, so Josson decided he would go live with the dragon instead. They killed the giant and kept its treasure, then they flew to other kingdoms to find other things who were bothering people to kill. They were a good team. That’s the end.


[Story] Fairsong Academy – Loralinde’s Journal

[[ I couldn’t find a word that I really clicked with so I just wrote a regular story for this week! ]]

Leaving Shattrath was difficult. I’m excited to see everyone at the school again, of course, and resume my classes. I’m glad that Keyalenn will be able to help with the frost students, and work toward taking the exams in fire and arcane. But I’ve also learned so much here, I wish I could stay and continue with it. Haani has lent me some books to practice reading in draenei, and she has said that she’ll write too. I’m supposed to reply in Thalassian, so she can practice hers. It’s so much more than just language though, she told me about different holidays and customs they have, and made some of their food so I could try it. They use many of the local plants and spices, so it’s unlike anything else. The food at the inn is very good of course, too, but they try to make it appealing to everyone so it’s not really authentic, Haani says. If you want real draenei food, you have to ask a draenei to cook it for you. Preferably someone’s grandmother, even though Haani isn’t one. I did get to see one festival, with the bonfires. I told her they do that in Silvermoon too, and she seemed kind of surprised. Now I wonder if they learned it from draenei but didn’t want to admit it, so they just pretend like it was our idea. It was very exciting, they had people throwing torches and breathing fire, though I’m fairly sure they were just mages casting fireballs from their mouth. Still, it looked very impressive. I wonder if I could learn to do that? I’m sure Magister Firewind would not approve. They also had a little market with food and things to buy, little fried bread and some kind of spicy meat. I bought a lovely dress that was dyed in the colors of flame, and the hem kind of has sharp points so it even looks a bit like fire. I hope I can wear it to the mask party, I could be fire and Keyalenn could be frost with his blue robes.

I haven’t asked the Headmaster about Haani coming here yet. I’m afraid he might say no. I know we’ve had kaldorei here before, and now a human, but a draenei might be too different. I’m also worried that someone in the town might hear about it and make a fuss. And of course she wouldn’t be able to go to the city and see our buildings the way I was able to visit hers. She can’t try our food and see our ceremonies, either. I suppose I could ask Tik to make some things for her. Maybe she could just come for one of the balls. The Headmaster could make her a portal to visit for the night and then just take her home after. I bet she would like that, and if anyone asked she could just say she’s dressed up as a draenei for her costume.

She did take me to the tombs right before we had to leave. I let her talk mostly, but they seemed curious about who I was. I am not sure if the ghosts recognized me from before or not, but I could sense them around the room we were in. I hate to say they have a certain energy, because that sounds like it’s purely based in feeling, but I can’t think of a better way to describe it until I know more. I can usually tell if a ghost feels curious, or hostile, or friendly. Some ghosts feel very uneasy and restless, while others feel more peaceful and serene. The ones at the school are mostly serene; they are in a place they know and recognize and they are accustomed to the living people there. These ones were, for the most part. They had come to this tomb by choice and decided to stay there, perhaps because they were among their own people. They seemed to recognize that it was intended for them and can wander freely without bothering anyone. I tried to speak a little draenei, it probably wasn’t very good. Maybe they at least found it amusing. I know there are many other chambers, some under the ground, where more spirits might dwell. They could be more dangerous, Haani said, because they are closer to the naaru husk. I don’t want to get involved in anything that I am not sure I can handle, and things to do with dark magic I’m not too sure about. A few of them let me see them, just glowing eyes at first and then the rest of their forms. I told them I would come back and visit as soon as I was able, I know the Headmaster is planning a trip soon so maybe I will be able to take an afternoon to go then. Haani also showed me which spices they should like — many of the same ones used in draenei cooking — so I’m going to make some incense to take with me.