..Isn’t trying hard enough.
Days. It’s been days wandering around this blasted glacier. In the distance I can see spires of darkest metal. Constructs of a war machine that is ready to rear it’s ugly head.
Meanwhile, I have to keep my eyes peeled to the horizon. Behind me wolves dog my every step. Ahead of me, Scourge threaten to ambush if i’m not careful enough.
It should be known that I dislike the snow. It gets in your shoes, makes your feet cold and stiffens the fingers. To a swordsman, a stiff hand is death. To a mage, a stiff hand is a badly fumbled spell. If we’re lucky, it’s a quick death.
And I suddenly remember Zindel. Failed to grasp the subtle context in basic conjuration. We never found the rest of him.
That being said. I liked Tanaris. Dry, windy and desolate. I found myself at home with my thoughts while travelling through Tanaris. Not something you often get when you channel raw, unbridled energy.
When I stepped off the zepplin at Vengeance Landing I was certain of two things. One, that I rather disliked the Forsaken. I promise you they smell and it’s not just the plague vats they’re constantly brewing. Two, that I hate the snow and as a secondary consideration, the cold.
I hadn’t dressed warm enough for a journey to Northrend, let alone a lengthy stay.
It wasn’t long before I’d managed to convey my situation to the Innkeep and he..sh..it provided me with a woolen underlayer to help insulate me against the cold.
But it didn’t take long for me to find the zepplin again and book a flight west, to Honor Hold. I appreciate the company of a curageous and cunning people as the Orcs. At the very least, their food is better.