World of Warcraft®

The sound, naturally, was the first thing Sharinel Firelight noticed as she ported into Thunder Bluff. It was softer, more resonant with deeper tones than her home’s sharper continual hum. The very sound of conversation around her was the rich dark timbre of the Tauren speech. To speak of a city’s rhythm struck her as decidedly boring cliche, but she had noticed that her own sense of pace and urgency changed the moment she set foot on the soft grassy soil after leaving Silvermoon’s hard streets.

She had made several trips now to Thunder Bluff, but if all went well, the commutes would soon be coming to an end. Her studio in the city was neatly packed, and her personal belongings boxed away. The Firelight home was the largest portion of her inheritance to have survived the destruction of the city, and frugality and careful cultivation of patrons had allowed her to maintain it. The thought of renting it to strangers was distasteful, but practicality demanded that she find a steady source of income if she truly intended to take a leave from teaching.

The view from the secondary rise was breathtaking. Sharinel paused to gaze out at the expanse of open plains surrounding Thunder Bluff, brushing back a strand of hair swept into her face by the strong winds unencumbered by anything in their way. A capricious pentatonic melody drifted from a nearby windchime.

Life in Silvermoon, strictly speaking, had grown stale. She’d grown accustomed to her routine of practicing and teaching music. She eagerly listened to stories others would bring back of strange new continents and people. She ruefully wish she had noticed the symptoms sooner; in retrospect, allowing Lanistor to regale her with his “tales of adventures” during his lessons had sent quite the wrong signal. There was little she could do now about such misunderstanding; in any case, she did not intend to be present when he next returned to the city.

After much consideration, she realized that she was not content with living vicariously through other’s recitations. While she had no intention of wandering into dangerous jungles or jumbled ruins, it would do no harm to visit new locations. To see, and more importantly, hear different cultures first hand. It was time to find a new, fresh outlook.

The first step was leaving Silvermoon. Oh, she would still visit, but living there on a daily basis would be a constant temptation to fall back into the old routine. Perhaps she was being a bit presumptuous in coming to Thunder Bluff, but one never got anywhere by being timorous. It was also the home of Irilin Duskwhisper, a man whose creative works she greatly admired. At the very worst, this “Thaettir” would turn her away, and she would seek someplace else.

It was with that thought bolstering her courage that she finally arrived at the Homeland Lodge and requested to speak with the Lodgekeeper.

Thaettir gazed down at the elf, smiling. "I am this lodge's keeper," he said amiably, setting down the broom with which he was sweeping. "Please, come in."

He moved to the side, sweeping his arm toward the back of the Lodge. The furnishings were sparse, though they made the small space inside the Lodge seem much larger than it was. To the right, as one entered, were a couple of bookshelves which housed Homeland's small library, what remained after the Longhouse was burned down during the offensive in the Barrens. The collection included the complete works of its current and former poets-in-residence, as well as journals and historical tomes. The collection was small, but provided sufficient reading material for those who called the Lodge home.

In the next nook was a table surrounded by chairs, neither too large nor too small, which provided residents with space to work on writings, drawings, cartography, or any other task which required a table. To the left was the ramp which lead to the small loft on the second floor, where a small kitchen and dining area was tucked away.

Thaettir lead the elf to the main room of the lodge. A corner fireplace provided light and heat for the area. The wall above the mantle was scattered with holes where residents could place their Hearthstones. In a small circle around the hearth were chairs, sofas, and cushions; it was clearly a space meant to be shared and enjoyed. Thaettir motioned to the seating around the fire, offering the elf her choice of seats. "Can I get you some water," he asked, half turned and ready to fetch it from the kitchen.

Sharinel claimed on of the chairs, folding her hands in her lap. She smiled and shook her head at the offer, "No, thank you, I am fine."

She afforded the rustic room a quick examination; she had not been sure what to expect, but found herself unsurprised at the simplicity of the space.

"Thank you, indeed, for seeing me. My name is Sharinel Firelight. I've come to inquire about the possibility of lodging. I am not quite certain for how long; however, I expect it to be long enough that I wish to situated in a place with more permanency and, perhaps, community than I might find elsewhere."