Hidden away behind the tree near the northern bank of Dalaran, Taceo draped her cloak around her legs. The cool breeze bit at her cheeks and whisked her short hair about her forehead and eyes. She shivered and withdrew a hand out from underneath her cape to pull her worn backpack closer to the large, gnarled root she leaned against. There would be no tanking nor healing duties today. There were much more than dungeons, high quality gear, and other soldiers to worry about. The only thing she knew was that she could not lose anything and anyone she held dear - and that included her beloved guildmates - to a cataclysm.
Whimsi hummed softly as she dumped her backpack and her container of safety deposit box items on the floor of the northern Dalaran bank. She tossed her coin purse back into her backpack and eyed the rest of the knick-knacks that had collected at her feet. Zombie's curious, horned-skull lowered into the pile and she gently shoved him away from his reins and moss-filled feed bag. The skeletal horse nipped at her once and she forced him away with a sallow palm. Tumnus' head peeked out from underneath his owner's backpack flap. Whimsi smiled and scooped him into her lap. He rubbed his head against her ribcage as she snatched up the various of herbs that had tumbled out of a scroll case she had found while exploring earlier. Adeptly, she bundled them up with twine and stored them away properly into their appropriate jars, sorting which containers would be sent to Tabijin and which would be returned to the bank. After gathering the odds and ends and striking a deal with a nearby vendor, she made her way to a mailbox, tripping twice due to Tumnus weaving his way around her ankles. The canister of deadnettle would sell, as would the leftover mageroyal petals and goldclover leaves... A battered mace, a handful of enchanting dust, a sprig of lichbloom, a discolored potion (still tasted 'minty' though), a spiked staff, a necklace of unusually elegant craftmanship... and
a hug. Once the items had been arranged neatly into the mailbox, she bent down and placed Tumnus carefully alongside the items and closed the door, positive that the feline would make the old troll smile. She opened the mailbox lid slightly, her luminescent eyes lighting up the dark, empty corners. She furrowed a brow; while she had been expecting mail hawks and owls to swoop down, she realized that her mail had been
magically sent. (Damned mages....)
The elderly troll sifted through the piece of mail that had returned to him at Tanka'Le Village. Most of them addressed him with an elegantly written salutation of "Hail Chief Tabi'" or a "Sir Tabijin." Auction money, letter from Lady Taceo, auction money, returned bid, letter from Lady Taceo, package from Whimsi, package from Winterr, Whimsi's request for a cat toy, a bundle of returned auction lots, auction money, Tumnus... Nothing fascinating as usual. The broad-striped tabby cat purred at him and swatted at his hand as he scooped up the rest of the envelopes. He heaved a weary sigh and tucked the items into his backpack before lifting Tumnus out of the mailbox; he'd have to get Taceo to deliver him back to Whimsi yet again.
Veton laid back in her hammock, careful to slowly rest her hooves on the wooden bar closest to the inn entrance. Tanaris held nothing but desert, goblins, and their need for items from places and creatures she could barely face. She wondered what her family would be doing if no one had left the crash site and continued helping with the recovery of their ship. She wondered if she had even the slightest chance to run into Lena, Elodi and Zilaara again. Thoughts of Goruth and Ealenia and the possibility of becoming a battle medic alongside them even crossed her mind. Her tail tip curled as a warm gust of wind blew through the small Gadgetzan inn; she really hated it here.
Rain poured heavily from the sky, seeping its way onto and into anything it landed on. Greyer shook the water from his thick pelt, starting at his tattered ears and neck and working his way down to calves, restoring the fur at his ankles to its previous damp, feathery appearance. He wished he had stashed his armor away for the night; though it provided some protection from the storm, distressed patches and seams sewn together with only waxed cotton cord could not keep him dry. He swallowed and let out a yawn, baring his teeth and curling tongue; after howling for nearly an hour, boredom had finally caught up with him. His eyes focused on his newly-found companion, a tawny-pelted, middle-aged individual by the name of Spritzer. If they hadn't been chased off by their fellow denizens, they would've been in the inn enjoying a pint of ale and enjoying themselves instead of prowling about by the King's Gate, waiting for the rain to stop. Spritzer's sightless eyes shifted from Greyer to the sky above. Greyer snorted and stood up briefly before planting his hands on the muddied path, continuing to head back to his makeshift camp on all fours. The blind bartender's khaki-furred ears swiveled forward and upon hearing Greyer's footfalls above the whispering rain, he set his nose to the ground and followed suit, the claws of each of his paws digging into the soaked terrain.
If anything, everyone, despite the distance between them, eagerly awaited the return of Greatfather Winter to restore their spirits of hope and happiness....
Whimsi smiled as she scanned the horizon from Krasus' Landing. "Beautiful isn't it, Tumnus?" she said dreamily, speaking to the broad-striped tabby at her feet. The feline rubbed himself against her calves, his loose fur sticking to the woolen material of her robe. Dalaran had easily impressed her beyond her expectations. The fountains were beautiful, the nightly fee at the inns were affordable, the vendors were pleasant, and there was always something happening wherever one went - just the other day, Tumnus scampered off after a poor engineer's pet mechanical squirrel, and as Whimsi managed to get a hold of the playful feline, the engineer simply smiled and accepted her panicked apology without a problem...
The White Lady and Blue Child hung listlessly in the night sky. With his usual pile of mail and packages tucked away in his tattered messenger bag, the old troll sat atop one of the large boulders before the grand gate of Orgrimmar. He let out a ragged sigh, his shoulders sagging forward as he hunched over, setting his elbows on his knees.
