World of Warcraft®

(I got bored so felt like writing this, feel free to add your own below!)

Dear Gramma and Grandpa,

I wish I could tell you how much I miss you. It's been so many years since you were lost but there's still always something to remind me of you. So many things have changed and I doubt you would even recognize me...but I hope you would at-least be proud.

I'm married now, we just celebrated our third anniversary back in august and our son turned two in July. He looks a lot like you grandpa, same hair that never stays where you put it and those same quick to smile eyes. I think you'd really like each other. Gramma would get along quite well with Ket, cautious and careful in everything she does but with a warmth that fixes whatever is wrong.

On the working front I command an order now, never really ever expected to or wanted to but I don't think I would change it. It's challenging, and every day I am terrified I am making the wrong choices especially when I send men out knowing they very might not come back but...they trust me. It's their trust in me that gives me faith in myself, faith to do what I need to in order to make this world a better place. If anything this has made me look up to the knights I chased after as a kid so much more.

Dallin is wanting to go play with his Gryphon so I should probably close this out. I just want you to know more then anything I have never stopped looking, and I never will until I am able to give you the rest you deserve. I hope that day comes soon.

-Kordrion

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*Dallin fidgeted impatiently as he waited for his father before finally piping up*

What's that?

*The Rogue smiled slightly as he carefully folded the page and places it with a neat stack of other undelivered letters*

An old Winter's veil tradition, maybe next year you can help me hmm?

*The boy grinned brightly and bobbed his head before grabbing Kord's hand to drag him off*

Lessgo!

*Chuckling in amusement the two made their way out to enjoy the last few days of fall*

The old gnome sent his letter to Genevra on its way, then took a guild chauffeur to Stormwind's Trade District.

From there he slowly shuffled his way through the city's cobbled stone streets toward the great gnomish tram. Along the way his mind wallowed in the simplistic appreciations of the city. It's architecture. It's people that beat as the city's heart. The distant mountains and on-shore breeze that carried with it the fragrances of the bay and the sea. He would be returning of course, this wasn't good-bye.

His old heart simply waxed melancholic around this time of year. His feet too always grew uneasy. Where ever he was life during the Winter Veil season never felt right until his feet rested upon the mighty mountains of Dun Morogh amidst the warm embrace of the it's mountain home.

((background music option- https://youtu.be/p1lBYnEK44w ))

He made his way through the busy streets of Ironforge to his home at Forge Lane, Mystic Ward. It had been closed and uninhabited for some time, most of the year at the least. Immediately the old gnome felt at peace as the stout key unlatched the thick door, which always swung open with surprising ease. He shuffled into the faint darkness and breathed a comforting sigh of relief. The stale dust of the still air welcomed him home.

He shed his outer robes, bags, and silvery wing-tipped staff; then meandered the home putting himself to work lighting lamps, pulling white cover sheets from certain furnishings, and generally bringing life back to the large stone habitation. A few nick-nacks were pulled from storage places and put out on the table. A bowl for fruit. A tray and knife for holiday cheeses, breads, and sausages. A simple pitcher for water, a fine crystalline carafe for spiced mead, and a spot was cleared for the inevitable pony keg of stout he'd have delivered. Along with each a simple cup, a finer glass, and a stout tankard was placed in pair.

He built a fire of the old dried wood cording stocked in a nearby nook. The modest fire in the hearth helped stave off the creeping chill of the mountain's cold stone. The warmth of the mountain's forge heart, after all, only reached so far. The burning hearth also served as the symbolic heart of the home for the sentimental old gnome. Every home, to be a home, needed only a few things and a fire topped the list. Pushing his tall-backed cushioned chair near the hearth he sat. Beneath him the thick fur of the enormous bear hide also served to warm his toes.

Wrapped in his thick embroidered house coat, he admired its familiar fit. He caressed the collar and let his hands slip into the front pockets. His hands bumped the forgotten stash. He grinned and slipped the finely crafted ivory pipe from his left pocket. From his right he pulled free a small ornate pouch and opened the draw string. Inside a fragrant mixture of herb and leaf he'd nearly forgotten. He lifted his aching feet and let them rest on the matching ottoman. He packed his pipe, struck his match and drew gently until the warm smoke filled his senses and wreathed his head.

His mind slowly drifted to distant memories of the one who'd gifted him these things. Relics of a time... an ageless time... when all the world seemed much more innocent. Fresh. Bright. New. Dreams were grand. Love anchored the soul. It's roots intertwined deeply with another. The memory of a breathy whisper shared intimately. Forgotten habits drifted unconsciously to the surface as he gripped the leather tag of the string in his teeth and drew the small pouch tightly shut. His thumb drifted across the embroidered letters on the outside.

T.L.F. Her initials.

As the night wore on Cail drifted away as the memory of Cailean drifted back to fill the gap. With him came the deep dull painful voids they left. Tanaflyn, Tana, left the largest hole. She drew the first tear. The triplets Flit, Bixi, and Dini drew the next few. He smiled in spite of the pain at the bitter-sweet memories they left behind, along with the youngest pair, Ean and Tendra.

None were forgotten as sleep slowly took the old gnome. Not even Ean's youngest three, also triplets.

The pipe smoldered in his hand. Gradually the light of the hearth burned low, allowing the peaceful darkness encroach. Within the darkness the ghosts of distant dreams and memories their laughter, their love, their sweetness reminded the elderly Cailean that he loved, and was loved, once. And though he alone peacefully dozed, slumped to one side of his chair before the dwindling fire, he was in fact not alone.

The crackling of fallen leaves cut through the air, despite the sparsity of them along the ground as Ketlan walked. The gravestones were less scarce, the result of so many wars, famine, and other disasters the past generation. Deranya Jancis’s stone was a small one, without ornamentation, and beside it was nothing more than a memorial marker for a missing grave.

She stopped at the foot of the grave. “Mother. Father.”

Bells tolled; she looked to the horizon and smudge of the town in the distance. Her sister Martissa was likely home, taking care of her small boy, named after their father, Kalmar. Likewise, Ketlan’s own son was named after her grandparents.

“Dallin is in Stormwind with Kordrion. He’s taking rather after his father, which I suppose is better than him outgrowing his clothes every couple of weeks like you claim Patru did. He’s talking now, as well. He’s also become a painter, which means we’ve locked up Kordrion’s inks a bit better.”

She chuckled and spoke a bit longer, speaking of her family, of Genevra and Daisy, the challenges of being a healer and herding the order along with Kordrion.

In years past, she perhaps would have simply written a letter. Leaving her family, traveling to Northrend, those were things she had willingly sacrificed to serve what she believed was right. Birthdays, holidays… funerals… all had passed with her presence being represented simply by a letter. Too many letters, and far too few trips to Westfall.

The bells tolled again and she breathed deeply, feeling the chill in her fingers and joints from standing still too long. “I’ll visit again,” Ketlan promised. “Light be with you both.”

Leaves crackled again as she headed toward a clearing, followed by the whoosh of wings.