I came to, awakening slowly, in an inn in Silvermoon. My mouth tasted of drinking and revelry.
And more bile than I care to ever experience.
It should be known that I am a mage of no small power, that any force capable of rendering me unconscious or, as it seems, forgetful of a nights’ events is a great force indeed. And so it was, that I found myself groggy, disoriented and strangely a lot taller than I had previously remembered.
Second on my list of problems, was the city itself. Silvermoon is a beautiful city full of majestic spires and elegantly carved doorways, well manicured lawns with the occasional wild bird flitting about.
My last memories were not of this city. But of another, vast and underground. A city carved of the very rock with harsh edges and an air thick with roar of commerce and the din of a large smithy.
You could ask me if such a place actually existed and I could tell you of at least a half dozen locales i’d personally visited. The problem lay where I’d last found myself before succumbing to the seductive warmth of a strong drink.
It was at this point I gave up. Memory is often released by experiences, sights or smells. So my better strategy was to take a walk and see if someone remembered me.
I found a familiar face outside. My hawkstrider Azkari chirped a friendly acknowledgement as I approached, kneeling slightly as I mounted. This was the first familiar thing I’d found since waking up. Already my day was starting to look up.
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