~Inspiration for this provided by Jae's The Explorer Task~
I awake slowly, stretching whilst my eyes are still shut, overcome with that certain type of lassitude that is the result of an excellent night of sleep and the certain knowledge that I have no plans or commitments in the day ahead. My distant cousin and near-constant companion, Naofa, left me at the inn last night, explaining that he had been summoned, along with many of his bretheren, for a minor 'crusade' of some sort. He did not offer detail and I did not press him for any. He will doubtless return this evening, weary, hungry and thirsty, more likely than not bloodstained, and with his armour, carefully polished last night, dull and battered, but glowing with triumph and exhilaration. I do not worry about him or fear for him. I know that he will return, he is the constant in my life, and has been since we were both young.
I nestle deeper into the chaise lounge that has served as my bed for the night and pull the thin cover over me. The bliss of being comfortable, of being in my home city, overwhelms me once more. Too many nights have been spent in unhospitable hostelrys in remote places, trying to sleep in rough hammocks slung here and there, for me to not treasure this moment. My visits to Silvermoon have been fleeting recently, we have been travelling in far-flung corners of Azeroth and it has not been practical to return as often as I would like.
Sunlight rarely penetrates the interior of the Silvermoon City Inn, however judging by the muffled noises in the streets outside, it's well into morning. I realise that I must rise, otherwise I am likely to remain here for much longer re-visiting the past, and that will do me no good at all. Fortunately, my head is clear, I drank little last night and retired to a sheltered alcove alone, drew the drapes and let the sounds of my kin enjoying themselves lull me to sleep. After performing my morning ablutions (hot, clean running water - the bliss!) I dress in a fresh robe and wander down the stairs. The inn is peaceful, the staff are restocking the bar quietly, mindful of last nights patrons who ate and drunk well and are now sleeping off their excesses. I smile briefly at them as I leave; a part of me hopes to return here tonight, the rational side of me knows that I will not.
Silvermoon, clothed eternally in red and gold, my heart is always here, regardless of which continent I am on. I wander through the streets, often passing the Silvermoon Guard, the brave men who keep our city safe, clothed themselves in the red and gold livery of the City. The enchanted brooms that enthralled me as a child, work tirelessly, brushing away dust, detritus and the thistledown which floats in the breeze. Occasionally I feel slight tremors in the ground and move quickly, if I can I seek a sheltered corner to sit in until they have passed, for I avoid the Arcane Guardians as much as possible. No matter how many times I am assured that there will be no more 'mishaps', no more loss of control, I will never forget the rogue ones that wander the Ruins, and the entities that patrol my beloved city issue 'orders'(thinly veiled threats infact) to ensure we do not, for a moment, forget our struggle.
I visit the shops in The Bazaar and talk to their keepers. Trade is slow, they tell me, but they continue nevertheless, what else should they do? Our people are still few and the other races rarely visit; I cannot understand why. They would prefer to be in Orgrimmar, a city slung together from wood and mud? Perhaps Undercity, with its slime filled 'canals'? Or Thunder Bluff, perched atop the hills of Mulgore, a testament to the earth magics, where perilous bridges carry you across chasms? Ambassador Kelemar passes by with the Horde Emissary and I cringe. They are unable to appreciate our City in it's glory and stature, preferring to jest about the lack of inhabitants. How can he bear it? As if it was not insult enough to have to spend time with the orcs, trolls, tauren and forsaken must he also listen to their crude jibes? As if we are not aware that the streets often echo with emptiness, where our footsteps ring out, unmuffled by the incessant chatter and noise present in the other cities! They think that enough time has passed and healed the wounds in our bodies, hearts and souls?
At every turn the big wooden doors are sealed, a reminder to all of the addiction and single-mindednes of the Wretched. Visitors to the City have only two options, the enter via the Spire or to come through the front entrance, leading to Eversong Woods. This is the Walk I follow now, it has been sometime since I set foot into the Woods and watched the dragonhawks fly. I walk through the Shepherd's Gate and sit for a moment on a bench, drawing in deep breaths of the sweet air. All looks peaceful, our green and pleasant land, but a few steps takes me to the edge of hell. Carved through the midst of the Woods is the Scar, the permanent reminder of the desecration wrought upon my race. I cannot bear it, my eyes sting and I blink fast, trying to keep incipient tears at bay. Will I ever be able to stand here and not feel desolate?
Before I give in to futile weeping I retreat, back into the comfort of the City. I have idled the morning away pleasurably but I need to spend this afternoon attending to errands, for when Naofa returns we shall leave again, and I have no way of telling when I will next be able to return.
~EDIT~ This is the first time I have ever written something like this, so be gentle, it's taken a lot of courage to put this 'out there' for public viewing!