The Gift of Gab and the Trial of Resolve
Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 4:12 pm
There's a saying back in Gilneas, to 'get gabbing or get going.
I had contacted the now newly appointed Dreadweaver, Atticus Grace, to start my Trial of Resolve. I had never been one for talking, let alone being so close to another. Feelings of anxiety feel my non-functioning stomach, a memory of 'butterflies'. I push at it, trying to build the nerve. While I feel it would be a simple matter to ask three simple questions, how to begin was to be my greatest hurdle. I could never come up with the words, a small murmur before shelling up. I needed something, a proverbial 'key to the door'.
I would find such a key in an old poster against the wall of Karazhan. They've told me, that time is distorted in and around that place. Much like that of the Timeless Isle. This old wanted poster of a man long alive, but to me, dead. One Atticus Grace. This would be my aegis to interviewing with him. Hopefully.
I tracked him to Silvermoon, home city of the 'Blood elves'. A beautiful city, its beauty second only to Gilneas City, but too bright. The sun always seems to hang just overhead through some form of elvish magics. Sir Atticus was not easy to find or track. His movements are chaotic and sporadic, much like that of a wild hare desperately trying to hide. However, I had found him, hidden away in a dark alcove, far from the touch of the sun and the breath of another body. A perfect place, so it would seem. But as I stood at the top of the spiral staircase, I felt it again. The feeling. I stood there for who knows how long, waiting. He could be gone for all I know now, but I continued to stand there. Finally, the clopping of a nearby horse brought me back to reality. Slapping at my chest plate a few times I descended. Through the shadows I saw him, sitting in the middle of a shaft of light. Perhaps he was in some sort of trance? Maybe I should come back, I thought. No, I must go through with this. I pulled out my poster and hesitantly approached. I tried to, what do they call it, 'break the ice' by asking a simple question, "What was he doing there?" Perchance, this would be easier than I originally thought. He seemed complaisant enough. I guess it was when I let my curiosity get the better of me that things started to fall apart. I had never seen an undead as both human and their current form. To see such a thing, even through a poster, interested me. I had only ever known of how I died. Perhaps in knowing how he did, I would learn who he was. At least, that was the thought.
I handed over my aegis poster, to turn the proverbial key and it seemed to have worked. He light-heatedly laughed about me possibly coming to collect. I too shrugged off the notion, but deep in my bosom I could feel the pain. I rubbed at it to try and keep it down. I began to ask my questions, hopefully to take my mind off of it. But it didn't help, I suppose it never does. I could feel the world warp about me, and for a moment, time froze. When I came too, Sir Atticus was in my face. I had come off as soft with my words. And if my studies thus far into The Grim were correct, the soft die young. I hesitated, I would have to show him. Undoing the couplings of my chest plate and lowering it, keeping myself modestly hidden, revealing my secret and the cause of misery. As he inspected, my embarrassment would be saved by the radio. We were to be summoned to the Timeless Island as the Alliance machine was running wild. We had a job to do, and battle to be joined. I would have to wait to secure my interview. I had never been one for talking, and there's a saying back home: Get gabbing, or get going.
I had contacted the now newly appointed Dreadweaver, Atticus Grace, to start my Trial of Resolve. I had never been one for talking, let alone being so close to another. Feelings of anxiety feel my non-functioning stomach, a memory of 'butterflies'. I push at it, trying to build the nerve. While I feel it would be a simple matter to ask three simple questions, how to begin was to be my greatest hurdle. I could never come up with the words, a small murmur before shelling up. I needed something, a proverbial 'key to the door'.
I would find such a key in an old poster against the wall of Karazhan. They've told me, that time is distorted in and around that place. Much like that of the Timeless Isle. This old wanted poster of a man long alive, but to me, dead. One Atticus Grace. This would be my aegis to interviewing with him. Hopefully.
I tracked him to Silvermoon, home city of the 'Blood elves'. A beautiful city, its beauty second only to Gilneas City, but too bright. The sun always seems to hang just overhead through some form of elvish magics. Sir Atticus was not easy to find or track. His movements are chaotic and sporadic, much like that of a wild hare desperately trying to hide. However, I had found him, hidden away in a dark alcove, far from the touch of the sun and the breath of another body. A perfect place, so it would seem. But as I stood at the top of the spiral staircase, I felt it again. The feeling. I stood there for who knows how long, waiting. He could be gone for all I know now, but I continued to stand there. Finally, the clopping of a nearby horse brought me back to reality. Slapping at my chest plate a few times I descended. Through the shadows I saw him, sitting in the middle of a shaft of light. Perhaps he was in some sort of trance? Maybe I should come back, I thought. No, I must go through with this. I pulled out my poster and hesitantly approached. I tried to, what do they call it, 'break the ice' by asking a simple question, "What was he doing there?" Perchance, this would be easier than I originally thought. He seemed complaisant enough. I guess it was when I let my curiosity get the better of me that things started to fall apart. I had never seen an undead as both human and their current form. To see such a thing, even through a poster, interested me. I had only ever known of how I died. Perhaps in knowing how he did, I would learn who he was. At least, that was the thought.
I handed over my aegis poster, to turn the proverbial key and it seemed to have worked. He light-heatedly laughed about me possibly coming to collect. I too shrugged off the notion, but deep in my bosom I could feel the pain. I rubbed at it to try and keep it down. I began to ask my questions, hopefully to take my mind off of it. But it didn't help, I suppose it never does. I could feel the world warp about me, and for a moment, time froze. When I came too, Sir Atticus was in my face. I had come off as soft with my words. And if my studies thus far into The Grim were correct, the soft die young. I hesitated, I would have to show him. Undoing the couplings of my chest plate and lowering it, keeping myself modestly hidden, revealing my secret and the cause of misery. As he inspected, my embarrassment would be saved by the radio. We were to be summoned to the Timeless Island as the Alliance machine was running wild. We had a job to do, and battle to be joined. I would have to wait to secure my interview. I had never been one for talking, and there's a saying back home: Get gabbing, or get going.