A Thanksgiving Evening at Fannon's

The sun was still peeking over the mountains of Dun Morogh as the day waned, the dying light glistening off the freshly fallen snow surrounding the little home cut into the rock. A warm glow was coming from its frost covered windows, wafts of smoke floated out of the little chimney. The scent of the nearby pine trees mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cooking. Inside, a crackling fire was burning merrily in the hearth, warming the small room, in the center of which stood a table filled with bowls and trays and platters filled with steaming food of all sorts. In the center of the table was a conspicuously empty space.

Around the table were seated an eclectic mix of people. At the head of the table sat a tall, dark-skinned man, powerfully built and dressed in a simple tunic of silver and gold. He was sitting on a cushion on the floor so as to be at the right height for the table. Next to him was seated a ferociously red-haired Dwarf wearing a festive red dress, trimmed with an intricate gold pattern that set off her pale, freckled complexion. She was chuckling at the gnome seated across from her.

The gnome, whose head and shoulders barely rose above the table height, peeked around the large, foaming mug of ale that she had placed in front of him that completely blocked his view and grinned, "Now that is a proper sized drink, Thallie."

"Aye," she smiled, "Tis nearly as large as yer head. But wha ye’d expect from a dwarven draught?"

Thosif gave a hearty laugh and shifted on his cushions to get more comfortable. "I’ve always wondered where you managed to store all the ale that you drink, Krupel," he said as he took a drink from his own glass. "Truly, it is a marvel that such a tiny little creature can put back such a quantity!"

"It's an ancient gnomish secret; very hush-hush," Krupel laughed in his squeaky, yet oddly gruff voice as he wiped the foam from his white moustache.

"Indeed," said Thosif seriously. "And where is that husband of yours, Thallie? He's been sequestered away in that kitchen for hours, it seems. One must wonder if he plans to feed his guests in a timely manner or merely let us waste away!"

Krupel placed his mug on the table with a loud and empty thud. "I don't blame you for being impatient, Thosif," he said cheerfully. "I image that you're sick of eating those severed fish heads and greasy whale milk that you Paladins do. Ick!" The Paladin scowled at the gnome as he continued, "Getting some hearty Dwarven food into your belly will be good for you. But I've gotta agree; Fannon sure is taking his time!"

A string of dwarvish swear-words, uttered by a deep, gruff voice with a thick Dun Morogh accent came from the kitchen doorway, "Magni's beard! A little patience, a'ready! Th' food'll be done when it's done!" 

From the opposite corner of the room a piercing cry interrupted the laughter of the guests. Sitting in a comfortable armchair was a young, fetching woman holding a tiny baby who had just begun to cry. She had a startled look on her face, as if she was unsure what to do.  She stood up, bouncing the baby to try and calm her down, whispering, "It's alright, little dwarfling. Shhhh."

After a moment, the crying subsided. "She likes yeh, Ophelie," Thallie said, "Ye're a natur'l."

"Thanks," Ophelie said, smiling. "She's adorable! And thanks so much for inviting me over to share in the holiday feast." 

"Nae mention it," Thallie winked. "Consider yersel' part o' the family."

Between sips Krupel chuckled, "That means you have to do the dishes, Ophelie. It's not as great a deal as it seems like at first."

"You don't seem to complain too much as long as there's plenty of food and drink, Krupel," said Thosif.

Thallie gave Krupel a playful slap, "Quiet, you. Ophelie, find yersel' a place t' sit 'round the table, the rest o' th' guests should be here any minute. An' Fannon should be done w' th' food soon. I hope, a' least." She gave a skeptical glance towards the kitchen, where a great deal of worrysome noise and the occasional curse could be heard. "I should go check on 'im, make sure he's -"

Just then a knock on the door resounded through the house. Thallie moved to open it, and from outside heard, "Vidyala, my love, I do not think I can fit though this door."

Opening the stout, wooden door revealed a large, blue-skinned Draenei crouching low so that his head would clear the top of the it. "Greetings, my dear Thallie. We are so glad to join you on this auspicious occasion," Vosskah said as he twisted and contorted his huge frame through the diminutive, dwarf-sized opening. His wife, Vidyala, followed him through with considerably more grace. She was nearly as tall, with pale, almost translucent skin, her long brown hair styled smartly around her horns. "That's how it's done, Voss. You just need a little more dexterity," she laughed.

"We warriors are built for power, not dancing, my darling," Vosskah said gently, smiling. "Hear hear! Built for power!" slurred Krupel in the background, who raised his tankard in salute before guzzling it back.

"Welcome an' welcome again t' our home, both o' ye!" Thallie beamed, "Fannon an' mesel' are s'glad t' have ye!" The distinct sound of something breaking came from the kitchen. "Errr, dinner'll be in a trice; Fannon's just finishin' up sae details," she continued, a slight flutter of concern in her voice.

The newcomers found a seat at the table and got comfortable. After a moment, Ophelie began animatedly telling a story of her many travels to exotic lands, while Thallie busied herself getting drinks for the new arrivals as well as Krupel - who was now starting on his third gigantic stein of beer and showed no signs of slowing down.

Suddenly, the door flew open and a man burst in. Clad from head to toe in simple black leather, he quickly shut the door and sprinted for the fireplace and began to warm himself up, shivering. "Winter in the mountains!" he said mockingly. "I'm not sure why on Azeroth we couldn't have met at my place where it's warm!"

The company laughed. Thallie hugged the latest guest, "Good tae see you too, ElBne," she laughed. "Th' weather would nae be s'bad if only you'd dress for it!"

ElBne smiled at Thallie, "Do you know how hard it is to move around stealthily when you're wearing six layers of bear skins?" he asked. "My professionalism wouldn't allow that!"

"I would think the clinking of the wine bottles in your cloak would tend to give you away more than the bulkiness of a winter jacket," joked Vidyala.

ElBne grinned and pulled out two bottles of wine from his cloak pockets, "I come prepared for anything!"

"Welcome, laddie," Thallie said warmly, "Now we're just waitin' for our last guest. ElBne, did ye chance tae spot Corath out there a' all?"

"As it happens, I did. I think it's alright to start without him, though," ElBne said. "When I saw him last he had accidentally attracted the attention of a few of the guards of Ironforge and they were chasing him through the hills towards Gnomeregan. I think it will be a while before he loses them and makes it back here."

Thallie sighed, "It's a pity tha th' guards dunnae know him as we do. I know he's a Tauren an' technically the enemy, but he's such a sweet little cow. I hope he escapes."

"I'm not certain there would be room in here for both of us," said Vosskah. He was sitting on a cushion on the floor next to the table, his head bent at an odd angle to keep it from hitting the wooden beam of the roof.

A long series of alarming sounds suddenly burst forth from the kitchen, accompanied by a loud hooting and more than a little smoke. The dwarfling, whom Ophelie had rocked to sleep and put in a fur-lined basket near the fire, began crying again. Thallie picked her daughter up, sat down on the hearth and began softly singing an old Wildhammer lullaby to calm her down.

Thosif stood up at the table suddenly, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the ceiling, and pulled everyone's attention away from the drama that was happening in the kitchen. "Please friends, find a place to sit around this magnificent table," he said formally. "Whilst our host is, uh, otherwise occupied with the preparations for our repast,  I would take this opportunity to offer a toast.

"I would like to thank you all for coming tonight, on this most excellent holiday," he began solemnly. "Each one of us have, at one point, stood up against the worst evils that Azeroth has to offer and has come out victorious. But not one of us could have achieved these victories without the help and support of the people around us. Friendship is what allows us to endure the unimaginable hardships and succeed when we feel that the Light has abandoned us, for we know that our comrades will stay true and show us the path through the darkness."

He raised his glass, "To you, my friends. To Vidyala and Vosskah, who came from so very far away to see us tonight. To ElBne and, yes, even our "enemy" Corath. And especially to you, Ophelie. All of you, your friendship means so much to me that it is truly impossible to properly describe. I salute you."

The room was silent as each person raised their glass and took a sip. The dwarfling gurgled in her basket.

"Brilliant!" Fannon exclaimed, appearing at the kitchen entrance holding a large, red cooking pot. "Finished a' last!" He was a mess. His elegant white robes - made of a shimmering material and trimmed with black and gold - were covered with stains and several rips. The hem of both sleeves bore the unmistakable scorch marks of being recently set on fire. His white beard - pulled into a thick braid in the front and tied with an ornate silver band - was frizzy and disheveled, with a still-wriggling fish tail protruding out of it. "Tuck in!"

With a flourish, Fannon placed the feast in the middle of the table. The room was suddenly quiet for a long, awkward moment. The guests glanced at each other nervously.

Krupel broke the silence, "Umm, isn't that lobster supposed to be dead?"

This post is part of the Blog Azeroth Thanksgiving Event hosted by Amerence, in which we are to give thanks to those bloggers who have inspired us in some way this year. I chose to thank those people whom have come out of the digital ether to become real life friends. I salute you all:

Vidyala from Manalicious
Vosskah from Sword & Board
Corath from Corath's Blog
ElBne (No blog, but we're working on him. Follow him on twitter in the meantime)
And the lovely Ophelie from Bossy Pally and the Giant Spoon


Have a Happy Thanksgiving, despite the fact that it's a month and a half late.

Day Two: From the Military District

Dearest Thallie,

I left Kharanos yesterday an' I just past through the gates into the grand auld city of Ironforge. Th' blast a' heat an' smell o' brunstane from the forges an' furnaces in the centre o' th' city hit me as soon as I walked in and brought a cheer t'me heart. Dwarves arn'a meant tae live above ground.

I'm sittin' in Tinkertown waitin' fe th' Tram - infernal Gnomish contraption tha' it is - ta take me tae Stormwind. Me ol' friend Theodrus tol' me that there's a portal there that'll tak me straight tae th' top o' Mount Hyjal, an' anythin' that'll save mesel' two weeks on a boat is a fine thing, tae my thinkin'. Ye know just how much I like the water! Gie me dry land any time!

I stopped by tae pay me respects to Sara when I passed through the Military District on me way to the Tram (which is runnin' late, by the by). She still seems weighed down w' pine an' greivin' about Sully's death, but a right sight better than when I delivered his letter tae the poor lass. She whipped me up one o' her delectable meat pies and I showed her the drawing of our dear dwarfling that I made a'fore I left. I tol' her that ye'd ha' come tae visit yersel', but that ye're stuck at home takin' care o' the little one.

She mentioned summat interestin' tha I thought ye might want to know: The way Sara tells it is tha' by the time the first new snows fall on Loch Modan, Ol' gaffer Ironboots is set to be movin' tae be with his sons out Thelsamar way. I know that you're of Wildhammer stock 'n all, an' love livin' on the mountain, close to nature and the elements, but I've always dreamed o' movin' to the bright lights o' Ironforge. To have me own place near the great forge (nae tae mention how close we'd be ta Bruuk's place an' his world famous Cherry Grog!) an' tae be able to visit the depths of ol' Ironforge whenever it struck me fancy; well, lass, it would be a great thing.

The Tram's arrived. Magni's beard, I wish there was a way t'strap meself to th' seat.

Fannon,
Ironforge.

This post is part of Through Your Interface. A screenshot oriented blogging challenge put forth by Saz of World of Saz. As I never like to do things the easy way or the same way as everyone else, I am putting a unique spin on my screenshots: They will take the form of sketches and be accompanied by letters - written in character - from my Dwarf priest Fannon to his wife Thallie, and will tell the story of his personal journey through the dangers of Azeroth.

In our second installment, Fannon writes about the place where he dreams of living.
  
  

Day One: Thunderbrew Distillery

My Dearest Thallie,

I write this letter having just left yeh and our dwarfling behind to yet again head off to war.

I'm sittin' in front o' the roarin' fire at the Thunderbrew Distillery an' I canna help but think back to when we first met here. Aye, lass, ye were such a pretty thing - an' too full a' spirit fer me ta take me eye off of!

I've always found it hard to tell ye the things that're on me mind. At th' end o' the day I just want to sit next to the fire, my feet up and surrounded by a cloud o' pipe smoke an' remain lost in me own thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if tha's bein' unfair to ye.

I dunna know when I'm goin' te be back ta see yeh or our daughter again, but I'll try to scribble a few words to yeh as oft'n as I can spare, an' I'll send ye a drawin' with each letter to show ye where I am an' that I'm thinkin' of ye.

I'm certain that I'll find myself in many-a different inn or tavern throughout m' travels, but the snap o' burnin' logs an' the smell a' roastin' meat will always bring me mind back to thoughts a' hearth an' home. From wha' I can gather from the tales being told 'round the fire, the slopes o' Hyjal are beautiful an' deadly, but the snow covered mountains o' Dun Morogh are where me heart lies, an' already I long for the day when we can once more sit together at the Thunderbrew an' share the simple pleasures of a foamy mug o' malt.

Fannon,
Dun Morogh.

This post marks the beginning of Through Your Interface. A screenshot oriented blogging challenge put forth by Saz of World of Saz. As I never like to do things the easy way or the same way as everyone else, I am putting a unique spin on my screenshots: They will take the form of sketches and be accompanied by letters - written in character - from my Dwarf priest Fannon to his wife Thallie, and will tell the story of his personal journey through the dangers of Azeroth.


In our first installment, Fannon writes from his favourite place to spend time, which is - not surprisingly - associated with alcohol.


  
  

Day Twenty: Denouement

This post is part of a series "20 Days of... WoW Blogging Challenge", a blogging challenge suggested by Saga at Spellbound. She proposes twenty questions to be answered in twenty days. This post marks the final chapter in the saga.


DAY TWENTY: THE FINAL DAY OF WOW

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

I have been a gamer for a long time, and the games that have hooked me have been many and varied. The Civilization series, Subspace, Counter-Strike, Command and Conquer, Dune 2, Quake 2 & 3 have all, at one point or another, been the focus of my gaming affections. World of Warcraft is merely the latest. It will not be the last.

WoW is different in one major way, however. There will come a day when I make the conscious decision to stop paying for it, which will mark a fairly definitive end for me.

With all the other games, which were free to play once you owned them, my interest would fade from a bright, burning desire to a cool ember over time - sometimes a period of months or years - and the time I spent playing the game would ebb and diminish along with it. With WoW, however, a month spent not playing the game is $15 wasted, so I suspect the disinterest period in the game will be much more abrupt.

WoW has been a part of my life for a long time - and I don't really even want to think about how much time has been spent wandering the wilds of Azeroth - so I imagine that there will be a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth before I finally pull the plug on it. Once the decision is made, however, there is no "popping back on" for a quick game or for nostalgia's sake, because that requires resubscribing.

I wonder if this Blog is going to keep me playing longer, or contribute to and accelerate the Burn Out process? I love writing for this blog; it has reignited a long-dormant passion in me, but will the pressure that I put on myself to keep churning out content make me feel less like playing? Already I find that there are times I have to choose between playing the game or writing about it. And as the demands of the Dwarfling continue to grow, it may feel easier to sit down with my laptop and grind out a post than it would be to log into the game and get something accomplished.

My final day playing WoW will be sad, but I think my final blog post will be even more emotional. As brilliant as the game is, it is a story written by someone else that I'm experiencing, while this blog is my own voice; my own story that I get to tell.

But as with all things, old things wither and die and are replaced with something new and vibrant. So it will eventually be with WoW and with Battle Medic. I can't wait to see what will come along that is amazing enough to top this game.


DENOUEMENT

The Dwarf stood on the shoulder of the mountain and gazed over the white, snow-draped landscape as the sun slowly sank behind the western mountains. The last, red streams of the dying sun bathed the ridge where he stood in light and beneath it, the the tops of the spruce trees were lit with fiery brilliance like a thousand flaming torches swaying slowly in the gentle breeze.

In the valley below a horn sounded, mournful and pressing, calling the Dwarves of Ironforge to yet another battle against impossible odds and implacable foes.

The Dwarf scowled, the deep lines etched on his face hardening. Numerous vicious scars marred his visage, telling the tale of a hard life of heroic adventure. Under his bushy, white eyebrows his steel grey eyes were set with a grim look and yet the sagging sides and craggy wrinkles around them betrayed his age.

In the valley below, the troops of young dwarves efficiently formed themselves into their battle ranks. Faintly, the barking orders of the commanders could be heard, as the dwarven soldiers prepared themselves for the long journey to the battlefield.

The Dwarf let out a long, slow exhale, his breath crystallizing in the air in front of him, and let his shoulders relax. He reached up, his fingers stiff from the cold, and unfastened the clasp of his bulky shoulder armour and let it fall to the snow, landing with a muffled thump. He then grasped his great staff with both hands and plunged it's end into the frozen ground at the edge of the shear precipice.

In the valley below, the dwarven troops stomped their boots and clashed their axes on their shields in unison as they made their final preparations to depart. The din echoed and reverberated ominously throughout the valley. Then, a short, piercing bark from the commander and the troops began to move as one, marching off to war.

The Dwarf stared at the sun until it dipped behind the distant peaks, casting the valley and the mountainside into shadows. He closed his eyes - still burning from the brilliance of the sunset - and a tear lazily slid down his large, pitted nose, finally freezing on the end before it could drip off. To his deathbed, he would always claim that it came from the pain of the intense sunlight and nothing else.

In the valley below the dwarven formation began singing a traditional marching song, perfectly matched to the cadence of their precise footfalls. Their voices, lifted high with youthful vigour and excitement, rang clearly. In what seemed like mere moments, the soldiers moved through a pass between two peaks and out of sight, their song fading until the valley was quiet and peaceful again.

The Dwarf looked out over the dark, silent valley that has been his home for so long and thought about the hardships and sacrifices that he had made to protect it. A part of him - a very dwarvish part - longed to summon his trusted ram and race down the mountain to join the war effort. To once again fight with ferocious determination. To be a hero again.

In the house behind where the Dwarf stood, a piercing cry cut the crisp night air and pulled him out of his daydreams. He turned and picked up his now sodden shoulder armour and walked back to the house, leaving a trail of footprints from the staff that remained, watching over the valley.

Yesterday: DAY NINETEEN: STUFF IN THE VIRTUAL ATTIC

  

Pushing a Boulder Uphill

or The Tale of a Dwarf, a Dwarfling and Not Enough Zees

The Dwarf had a fatigued look about him as he trudged along the path.  His formerly red hair, now streaked with enough grey to make his beard look snow-covered, blew wildly in the strong Dun Morogh winds.  His bright blue eyes were beset with creases and wrinkles but carried a determined squint, a defence against the stingingly bright snow of the mountains.  His head was bent forward as he pushed himself onward.

The last few weeks have been quite hard here at Battle Medic HQ.  The Dwarfling has been a part of my life for five weeks now and, as wonderful as she is, she is freaking exhausting.

My wife has been fantastic during this period, and has been trying her best to insulate me from the sleepless nights that come with a newborn baby so that I can perform well at work.  Still, I find myself up during the night fairly frequently rocking the baby to sleep or waking up when Mrs. Fannon gets up to look after her.

The snow was mercifully packed down from recent travelers along the road and it was no longer snowing, making each step the Dwarf took easier.  The Dwarf knew, however, that the journey would become more difficult.  With his hand he shaded his eyes and glanced upward towards the summit, grimacing.

The lack of sleep is really starting to get to me, and my brain feels like pea mush baby food – all green and squishy and not really all that appealing to think about.

This fatigue induced brain-fuzziness that I’m feeling lately has touched all aspects of my life and made even the most mundane tasks seem as daunting as pushing a gigantic boulder up a hill.  I find it very hard to concentrate at work, which given my profession is a very bad thing.  Most days it’s all I can do to stumble through until 6 o’clock.

He reached a fork in the road and paused for a moment.  In between the heavily snow-laden pine trees a path was visible leading up the slope.  It was apparent that it had been used recently and was kept well maintained, but the snow had blown in during the night and piled itself in deep drifts, covering much of the path so as to make any traveler’s journey up the hill arduous.  The Dwarf turned and started up the path, his feet sinking into the deep snow up to his knees, and began to slowly and painstakingly ascend the hill.

I find it extremely difficult to sit down and write for my blogs.  The words fight with me a lot more than I find they do when I have a clear head, and the wit and humour that I try to inject into each post has been missing, or at least hard to find.  I have started three or four posts over the past couple of days and all of them feel extremely tedious and repetitive and repetitive.  My normal technique of dealing with writer’s block by sitting down with my laptop and a glass of wine in a quiet room and just writing is hard these days because the house doesn’t get quiet for any length of time.

The other issue is figuring out just what to write about.  It’s a sad fact that my play time over the course of the past five weeks has been woefully restricted.  And when I have been able to play, the fatigue and fuzziness has ensured that I don’t get a lot done.  It’s tough to write a really compelling and personal WoW blog when you’re not actually playing WoW very much.

And before anyone panics, this is not a goodbye post.  I’m not leaving WoW for another game.  I’m certainly not quitting the blog – I enjoy this far too much.  I want to play, but life is conspiring against me.  I find it ironic that there are a lot of people who are leaving WoW because they’re bored with it, and I am desperate to play and can’t.

Seemingly after an eternity of backbreaking effort he reached a plateau and stopped for a rest.  He reached out his hand to brace himself against a large, gnarly pine tree; the rough bark feeling oddly warm in the frigid cold of the failing day.  He was breathing hard from the exertion of the climb and his breath had accumulated into icicles that clung to his beard, hiding any red hair that remained beneath a coating of frost.  A mountain hare sitting on a nearby stump considered him for a moment before hopping away.

The Dwarf smiled and looked up towards his destination nestled into the hillside at the far end of the plateau.  A warm and cheery glow was coming from around the sturdy, oaken door of the little stone home, and the smell of roasting boar was wafting through the crisp evening air.

The vast majority of my WoW time lately has been spent playing Fannon 2.0.  I’ve been really enjoying the levelling experience, but the most compelling thing is that I can play in small chunks with no consequences.  I find logging onto my main these days very stressful because I don’t feel like there is anything that I can do that is both fun and can be dropped at a moments notice when the Dwarfling decides that she wants daddy.  There is no pressure on Fannon 2.0.

I am still managing to raid twice a week, for the most part.  And while my wife and I have an agreement on my raiding time, Dwarfling Aggro has been a frequent occurrence.  More than once I have wiped the raid because the crying starts and I’m trying to heal and move with only one hand because I had to pick her up.  Ascendant Council is a pain in the butt with only one arm.

With a renewed vigour, he crossed the clearing and pushed open the heavy door.  The warmth from the cheery fire burning in the corner was a welcome sensation as he entered the little home.  White bear skins lined the floor and walls, and a table was set along one wall with crockery laid out for an evening meal, with two mugs of foamy ale already poured.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have expected less.  The exhaustion, the lack of time to do the things, the stumbling around like a zombie singing lullabies to your rather confused co-workers; these things are all normal when you have a newborn.

Still, I am looking forward to the day when I can play WoW and get a good nights sleep.

“Fannon, darlin’, is that yeh?” came a call from the next room over and presently a Dwarf woman carrying a bundle appeared in the doorway, her ample braids bouncing.

“I’m so glad yer finally home.  Everythin’ all righ’?” she said, passing the bundle to Fannon.

The Dwarf looked down at the tiny dwarfling face poking out of the swaddled blankets. The dwarfling’s eyes were closed, and her small, wrinkled face squirmed from the cold that radiated from her father. A drop of water from the melting icicles dangling off his beard dripped onto the dwarfling’s forehead and she began to cry.

“Aye, lass,” he smiled, his tired eyes twinkling.  “Everythin’ is just perfect.”