Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Saundin the Melancholy - The tales of Saundin, Part I

[Note: This is yet another diversion from the norm, and one area of WoW I have never previously visited, that of RP. This is my first attempt at any kind of story associated with any of my characters, and like running and pet battles has nothing really to do with healing, or anything this blog was really meant for. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy. The names mentioned here are either guildies, or those bloggers that I respected and admired. Tam, Jess, Larisa, Morty, wherever you are, I hope the world is treating you well.]

Saundin glanced around morosely. The cold was eating into his bones, bringing back many memories of this place, and most weren't pleasant. It wasn't even a proper inn, more like a glorified tent. Seriously, the Tournament had been around long enough you think they could have built something substantial, something that kept the cold out and allowed a good roaring fire, with some comfortable chairs to sit in. They couldn't even brew a decent ale in this frozen wasteland!

It was, he reflected, not exactly the retirement he had been planning. Not that retirement had been on his mind at all short months previously.  Sure he was getting on and there were so many young folk who didn't have the history he had around these days, but it wasn't until news of the new island full of Hozen, Virmen, and Pandas of all things broke in Dalaran that fateful day that he realised it was time to hang up his mace and his shield and seek a different challenge.

He stared at his reflection in the almost-empty tankard sitting in front of him.  The wrinkles were getting more pronounced, and the hair was accelerating its transition from the black of his youth to a colour more seen in those who could no longer wield the tools of the trade.  Not that his weapons were in bad condition, as he made sure to keep them oiled and cared for in the proper fashion - he hadn't completely given up the idea of once again riding into battle, calling on the forces of light to heal his allies and resurrect them when they inevitably bit off more than they could chew, but he knew that time was moving on, and he was being left behind, nay, he had already been left behind.

He realised that many of his friends and companions were now consigned to the memories of those old-timers like him.  Who could forget the wit and humour of Tamarind, the priest who stood at the back in his sissy robe rather than sullying his hands with real fighting and healing up close and personal, or the vertically challenged but ever knowledgeable Jessabelle, who he had gone to such lengths to meet all those years ago and discuss the finer points of the healing arts.  Even Larissa, whose Pink Pigtail Inn was always a warm and inviting place to which he went and sat in a comfortable corner sometimes had closed up shop and moved on to greener pastures.  Although embarassing to admit for a staunch defender of the light, he also missed the more-than-slightly illicit admiration for the Warlock Mortigan, whose exploits Saundin had followed courtesy of some underground dealings in Dalaran. (The advantage of such places of Sanctuary were that you could always find a goblin or two who would part with tales from the Horde for the right price and your fellow Alliance stalwarts would never know!). He looked around as if even thinking it would cause a mob to appear as if by Mage Portal at the table to lynch him for such heretical thoughts.

Brushing aside his tankard, Saundin jumped on the table (It must be admitted that years of company with Dwarves such as Derron and Kasias may have somewhat altered what would constitute 'Acceptable Behaviour' in polite company) and raised his voice "We should drink to those no longer with us, and those fallen in wars past and present. The next round is on me!". When all present (admittedly a rather small and mostly uninterested crowd these days) had filled their beverage container of choice, he raised his tankard and proposed a toast "Let us never forget the friends we have had and the times we shared". There was a moment's respectful silence then the patrons went back to their conversations, probably muttering about the old Holy Knight who had interrupted their afternoon and should just go somewhere, anywhere as long as it was not there and leave them in peace and quiet!

There was something about the place that just brought out the melancholy. More than likely it was the plethora of negative emotions that permeated the entire place since the days of the jousting at the Tournament. Those interminable jousts that brought even the most hardened warrior to his knees - something with being made to practice a skill known and perfected long ago, to again and again come back in a oft-times fruitless repetition of similar tasks. It almost felt like an exericse in self-flagellation coming back here to Icecrown, despite the practical necessity - or at least how he assumed that might feel, given that whipping oneself while encased in full plate armour didn't tend to achieve much really. He sniggered quietly to himself. Even if no-one else did, he amused himself and that was the main thing!

As to that necessity and why he was back freezing his joints in this excuse for an establishment, that tale is too long for today and will have to wait as Saundin, lost in his reverie, had fallen asleep and was now snoring gently into his tankard.

4 comments:

  1. And it was a good delve into the realm of the non-normal for Sohei/Saund. A good read my friend, and I hope that tales from you become the norm.

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  2. Why thank you Navi. I have some ideas for another one or two - we'll see.

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  3. I hope we hear further on how Saundin fares and I too miss the tales of Mortigan. I've told my Warlock she needs to visit the tournament (pet related task) and she looked at me in horror and hasn't been seen since.

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  4. Let me guess. Your poor 'Lock logs in, does a (fruitless) round of Sindy's Fall, then battles Master Payne, then logs out. Amirite? :)

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