Westfall

Togy awoke slowly stretching his unusually sore body, it felt like every single muscle was used to their breaking point. His mind swirled wildly.

'What happened yesterday?' Flows into his mind as he mumbled low to himself,

His mind still in the dazed of sleep euphoria at this point he was unclear of the area still, the sheets they felt different. Softer than the ones from the inn that he had been staying at. His eyes opened slowly after a few blinks to clear his vision fully. Finding that he was in fact not at the inn anymore but it appears to be a room of a woman, the room had a Starwood vanity with a small stool; a lovely mirror behind the polished wooden make-up dresser framed in silver that he could see.

This painting goes with the events Beisel references here: http://rp-haven.com/blog/beisel/trees_westfall

Image after the jump!

Hot breath turned to steam as it met the night's chilled air.  Rouge painted lips parted slightly.  Panting, she tried tried to catch her stolen breath.  Cold rain blew over the coastline of Westfall, feeding the dry ground with the nourishment it desired.  Thunder roared in the far off distance and the dark clouds lit up over the ocean.  Goosebumps littered her shoulders and back as the cool droplets rolled down her.  Time seemed to exist in a paradox.  It felt as if everything was standing still and yet it sped by with each heart beat.  Grunting, her body tensed and lightning streaked across the distant horizon.

The funeral, such as it was, had been simple.

I dislike putting a big OOC blob on the front of my blogs, but there are references to the retooled quests in Westfall in this blog, and they may constitute spoilers. Also, thank you to Harrigan for a quick review on this, since this encounter happened before Cataclysm came out and memories fog in time. So be aware! And please feel free to leave comments, even if they aren't critique.

To Samuel Maxton, Northshire Abbey, from Acolyte Helewyn Southcliffe:

Dear Max,I write to you from Redridge. I've been reassigned here by the King himself! Can you believe that?

The gryphon, its senses heightened by the flames and smoke, shot away from Sentinel Hill at alarming speed. Not used in any way to flying, Helewyn Southcliffe clung to the saddle on which she sat, fingers and knuckles snow-white from her grip. She prayed.

Dear Light. Do not let me fall off.
Dear Light. Do not let me fall off.
Dear Light. Do not let me fall off.
Dear Light. Do not let me fall off.

I spent a little more time on the docks with Dad and Reala before it was finally time to go. I had no idea when the boat to Stormwind was going to leave so I threw myself on it right away. I'd had the entire trip to Kalimdor to familiarize myself with some of the most basic information about the Alliance and when I boarded the ship I saw there were a couple other worgen already there. That probably saved me from having to explain just what the hell I was and why I was on board; they'd already been briefed. To them I was just another hard-luck fighter looking for somewhere to go, something to do.

I still smelled of sweat and a whole range of other things. some of which weren't even mine. Being armed and armoured discouraged any of the crew from accusing me of being a vagabond, though at that point I figured I fit the description. Homeless, drifting ... At least violence is still a paying profession.

To Samuel Maxton, Northshire Abbey, from Acolyte Helewyn Southcliffe:

 Dear Max,
I write to you from Sentinel Hill in Westfall. Yes, Westfall! It's the furthest I've ever been from home, though this is where my mother and her family resided in her youth.
 

I didn't realize my earlier letters didn't reach you. My "adventures in Elwynn," as you call them, were anything but! They were a mix of tedium (bring this here, bring that there), terrifying (YOU NO TAKE CANDLE), and dangerously bloody (Mrrrgglgle!)
 

Howls and high pitched yelps echoed off the cliffs overlooking the Longshore. Night had fallen on Westfall, but a huge, roaring fire lit up the hilltop. A large crowd of figures were painted against the flames: Gnolls, scrapping with one another, rooting and tearing through the stolen goods of the day and gorging themselves on food.

“Enough! Quiet!” a booming voice thundered over the large pack; quieting the rowdy gathering. Before the group stood the pack leader, the alpha male and currently one of the most highly regarded Gnolls in the region: Shadowmane

Westfall, her home shire, the place where she was born and raised. Now she was here, following the Major’s orders and taking stock of any and all strange reports, sightings, and happenings. The stormy season was upon them, however, and her thick cloak was soaked through quickly by the driving rain coming in off the sea. The driving wind didn’t help matters. Her first stop was at the Orchard on the high cliffs owned by Mrs. Daphne Stilwell in the far southern half of the region. 

The woman invited her inside and pressed a warm mug of cider into her chilled hands, “I dunno what gotcha out here, Corporal Goldengale, is not this time of season! Certainly y’all have better things t’ do rather than run aroun’ in the wet an’ mud… Sure is nice t’ see ya though! It’s been ages since you and your sister moved north t’ the city!”

Westfall… the very flea ridden names makes me want to be sick to my stomach.  It’s punishment, that’s all this is.  Punishment for us lackeys who ain’t exactly death knight slaying and lich king buggerin’ material.  Not yet I keep telling them, I’m getting there. Provided the whole war I’m missing up north isn’t over by that time.  I am gonna be pissed if it is.

[[ In this little tale - unrelated to the ongoing Ole plot with the horse-racing -  I have played fast and loose with a famous NPC.  As the NPC in question is simultaneously in two places in-game, I have chosen to interpret the timeline in a different way.  I hope this doesn't upset anyone!  I just wanted to tell a story, so please be understanding :-) ]]

 It was that time of year again, the leaves falling, the morning fog would roll in thick, the air was getting colder, and daylight grew ever shorter.  Hallow's End festivities had wrapped up the day before, and now the Day of the Dead was upon them.