Saga - Part V
Feb. 11th, 2009 07:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amarthielI came to Orgrimmar by night, in my disguise, wrapped up in a cloak and hood just in case. No one questioned me; I secured a room for myself quickly, having studied appropriate phrases quite exhaustively. I passed the night surprisingly peacefully; I don't know whether it was just because of my exhaustion, or whether being in 'enemy' territory didn't bother me as much as I'd expected. I set out the next morning for the Valley of Trials, where I would begin my training again.
I'd picked up some cheap leather armor- nothing fancy, the kind of thing you can buy for a few copper in Goldshire or Kharanos- and, donning it, headed to meet my new trainer. He got straight to business and I found myself simultaneously trying to supress the muscle-memory of a mercenary warrior, and struggling to master the unfamiliar moves of this older rogue. I know my way around a blade as well as the next person; but it was strange to try something so new, after so long in my own chosen path. I felt less secure without plate, but the freedom of movement nearly made up for it. I've always been agile, but unencumbered by my heavy armor it was much easier to twist and dodge to evade the instructor's moves than I was accustomed to.
After a brief time in the Valley, I headed off to Sen'Jinn village and began to explore Durotar in earnest. It's a lovely land, in places, but there is something painful about the desolate red soil. And the land there shows its pain more readily than most places; I remember embarking upon my warrior's training in Northshire. The worst we had to face there were rats and thieves; in the Valley were demons, and just outside, an encampent of filthy centaur.
South of Sen'Jinn are the Echo Islands, full of troll ruins and tropical growth... Like Stranglethorn writ small, though the jungle is much more developed there. I spent some time hunting down tigers and hexxed trolls for the denizens of the village, and eventually returned to Orgrimmar, wanting to get a look at the city before the sun set.
Orgrimmar is huge; I used to find the massive, sprawling construction of Ironforge strange, but its horde counterpart proved to be even more bizarre. I took a slow walk around, peering into shops, rarely saying more than a few words, if that. I had somehow expected it to feel different; but from what words I caught the business of Orgrimmar is not unlike the business of Stormwind. People buy, people sell, people banter and complain. I kept an eye out for the troll and tauren that had been with the druidess Amynnah, but did not see them.. Then again, I had no idea whether I would recognize them if I saw them again. I felt fair confident that not even Amynnah- or Lamassu, as she would be here- would not notice that I wasn't what I seemed, at least not on first glance. The mask served its purpose wonderfully; looking in the rough mirror in my room, i saw nothing of myself. It was an oddly comforting fact- not that I've ever disliked myself. But it helped me separate myself, my history, from the role I was playing here.
I sat at the window of the inn and watched people go by until it got dark, and then for a while after by the light of torches. I thought of the people who'd stalked by after their massacre, cursing the horde and patting each other on the back; it was harder for me to imagine them as individuals, than to imagine the lives of these strangers who passed by my window.
I'd picked up some cheap leather armor- nothing fancy, the kind of thing you can buy for a few copper in Goldshire or Kharanos- and, donning it, headed to meet my new trainer. He got straight to business and I found myself simultaneously trying to supress the muscle-memory of a mercenary warrior, and struggling to master the unfamiliar moves of this older rogue. I know my way around a blade as well as the next person; but it was strange to try something so new, after so long in my own chosen path. I felt less secure without plate, but the freedom of movement nearly made up for it. I've always been agile, but unencumbered by my heavy armor it was much easier to twist and dodge to evade the instructor's moves than I was accustomed to.
After a brief time in the Valley, I headed off to Sen'Jinn village and began to explore Durotar in earnest. It's a lovely land, in places, but there is something painful about the desolate red soil. And the land there shows its pain more readily than most places; I remember embarking upon my warrior's training in Northshire. The worst we had to face there were rats and thieves; in the Valley were demons, and just outside, an encampent of filthy centaur.
South of Sen'Jinn are the Echo Islands, full of troll ruins and tropical growth... Like Stranglethorn writ small, though the jungle is much more developed there. I spent some time hunting down tigers and hexxed trolls for the denizens of the village, and eventually returned to Orgrimmar, wanting to get a look at the city before the sun set.
Orgrimmar is huge; I used to find the massive, sprawling construction of Ironforge strange, but its horde counterpart proved to be even more bizarre. I took a slow walk around, peering into shops, rarely saying more than a few words, if that. I had somehow expected it to feel different; but from what words I caught the business of Orgrimmar is not unlike the business of Stormwind. People buy, people sell, people banter and complain. I kept an eye out for the troll and tauren that had been with the druidess Amynnah, but did not see them.. Then again, I had no idea whether I would recognize them if I saw them again. I felt fair confident that not even Amynnah- or Lamassu, as she would be here- would not notice that I wasn't what I seemed, at least not on first glance. The mask served its purpose wonderfully; looking in the rough mirror in my room, i saw nothing of myself. It was an oddly comforting fact- not that I've ever disliked myself. But it helped me separate myself, my history, from the role I was playing here.
I sat at the window of the inn and watched people go by until it got dark, and then for a while after by the light of torches. I thought of the people who'd stalked by after their massacre, cursing the horde and patting each other on the back; it was harder for me to imagine them as individuals, than to imagine the lives of these strangers who passed by my window.
