So, heaving the fifth sigh of the evening since entering the halls, he came upon the door to his office, unlocked the two locks, disabled a rather weak magical seal, lifted the door slightly off of a broken hinge so that it would not get caught on that one damned high cobblestone, and entered. Nothing of great importance was ever kept in this office, despite the status of the current and previous owners. It was really just a room of rather boring and mundane books, ledgers, scrolls, quills, ink, and stale air. All of the information that could be found inside was rather inconsequential or simply common sense to anyone with half of a brain. It also served as a repository for the mail amongst the officers. Most of it was junk, but at times something interesting or useful would find its way to the small desk. Small for a Tauren, anyway.
Sure enough, there was a small stack of sealed envelopes and scrolls on the desk. Tightening his lips into a grimace and lighting some of the lanterns along the wall, Awatu steeled himself for one of the most daunting challenges ever placed before him: sorting the mail. Charging headlong into Ironforge? Easy. Battling hordes of Mogu, mantid, and yaungol? No problem. Balancing a tax ledger and sorting through personal mail? Earthmother help him. It was not that he found reading and writing difficult, even on such tiny paper. On the contrary, it was one of the first things he learned when he studied the Orcish language. Reading and writing were actually some of his favorite hobbies during the sparse amounts of downtime available to him. It was just so abysmally DULL to balance the coffers, taxes, claims, and anything else that found its way to this ill-begotten room of horrors and ink.
He sifted through the scrolls and envelopes, sorting them into piles that he could tackle individually. Starting with the largest pile and working down to the smallest had always been the easiest method. Luckily there was not much and he could be leaving within the hour if nothing too complicated shows up in the numbers. He had just begun sorting through the scrolls when he found one that made him freeze. Every other piece of paper and parchment were left forgotten as his eyes widened at the small leather scroll bound in a black length of vine. He knew what he held without even needing to open it. Someone had died, which was not all that uncommon. But this was not just someone. These were the traditional scrolls sent between Tauren tribes to announce the death of family. And now, Awatu was puzzled. His family had already passed, so why would he be receiving an invitation to the funeral? Untying the vine and unfurling the scroll, he read what was written in Taur-ahe.
Elder Awatu of the Stonespire,
It is with deepest sympathy that we inform you that, under the Light of Mu'sha, on the eleventh night of this cycle, Ithawasa of the Wildmane passed in his sleep into the eternal embrace of the Earthmother. His remains have been elevated upon the scaffold nearest his dwelling in Camp Mojache, as per the customs of the Wildmane. As one of his next-of-kin and a tribal elder, we of the Wildmane ask that you attend to his funeral rites along with his remaining relatives.
Wildmane traditions will override Stonespire traditions. Any Grimtotem relations will not be tolerated. We hope your understand.
In sympathy, blessed by the Eyes of the Earthmother, Elder Kym Wildmane.
