Thalevia had never been a materialistic person. Nice things were only just that, nice, and not a requirement of survival. In her childhood and youth she had never been one to collect pretty rocks or jars of coloured sand or other bits of debitage that so many other girl children enjoyed.
But as any person as widely traveled as she was now was bound to collect scattered bits and pieces from her travels. She sat on the large bed in her rooms in Undercity to take stock of what she possessed.
A large bookshelf dominated an entire wall filled half with tomes and grimoires, the other half with trinkets and colour bits. Each had a story to tell, a memory associated with it. Her eyes traveled over them, each item bringing the memory of its acquisition.
Crystalline shards of all shapes and colours, glass bottles filled with shimmering dust, all neatly labeled in her flowing script. Bobbins and spools, a small box Thal knew to be filled with needles, a pile of neatly rolled scrolls, all with a pattern inscribed onto them. The first soul she had ever collected, the purple crystal containing it set gently on a three footed pedestal. A wand she had admired the shape of that she could not bear to part with. A runestone pulsing with dark magic she had collected in the dark school. A charred childs doll, much like one she had once had, from her ventures into the burning city. A large bowl filled with small strangely shaped stones from the troll city in the jungle. A strange stone, pulsing with heat, set into a glass enclosure, was her trinket from the fiery mountain core.
Her momentoes were not limited to her shelves either. Next to where her loom dominated the one corner stood several clothed dress forms. One held the simple purple robes she had laboured for weeks to craft from tiny scraps of felcloth stolen from demons. She had rewoven the cloth into once large piece, melding into it the magic from Dark Rune stones and the very essence of the element of fire. It had fit her tiny form perfectly and the demonic runes she had embroidered across the bottom had glowed lightly when she used her spells. The second form held a prized possession. A labour of patience, spoils rewarded to her from the fiery mountain core. Her Felheart robes were a prized possession, with barely any burn marks on the hem. And tucked next to them was a large wickedly sharp scythe, a reward for trials prior to completing her first round of training.
As she looked at all the items, her fingers passing lightly over some, she thought of all her experiences gathering them. Shock at being guided on the warlock path upon her resurrection into the Forsaken, sadness at seeing the city of her births ruins, surprise at the strength she was unaware she possessed, happiness in finding the collection of individuals that make up The Grim, fear with her first steps into the fiery mountain; anger, glee, rage, tears, indifference, acceptance. That is what she saw in the items before her.
She lay back on her bed, staring at the dark stones of the ceiling and came back to the task before her. Her small black cat cuddled next to her purring and she reached over to rub it behind the ears. A dip in the mattress as a larger beast jumped up and curled itself next to her with a contented growl. She smiled and reached over the stroke the head of her felhunter, her most trusted and loyal demon companion. The rest were tools, but Maadom was a friend, a lovable puppy in demon form. As much as she enjoyed the power her demons brought to her, most saw her much weaker for coddling and relying on their power. And if she were to be of any use in the fighting against the madness of shattered Draenor, she would have to find another path.
The problem returned to her mind, forgotten briefly by the attention of her pets, what was she to do.