|Haanta considers a race change…nah…|
Matty emptied out her bags, banks, and bagatelles: she found an old, spent totem, (she had made that in summer camp when she was very young, its clay mortally flaking), some torn netherweb spidersilk, a few jaggal pearls tumbled out, rolling into the cracks in the floor (lost forever now), and some Scarlet Crusader gear she kept in case she felt righteous. “This will never do,” she thought, “They all deserve so much more than this.” Chiding herself for thinking and knowing, oh, ever knowing, that Winter Veil’s big festivities were right around the corner, and now less than a clock tower dance around the dial, why didn’t she save more gold to buy her friends gifts? They had all been so generous to her all year long, and yet, once again, she was a day late and gold coin short, as always, and was having a difficult time reciprocating. “Ever thus to deadbeats,” she sighed to herself. She was even weary of her mooching ways.
If she could, she would give gifts that her friends truly wanted and would cherish:
To Kaylyne and her kin, though, there was not much that they didn’t already have: bravery, steadfast loyalty, and humor. Maybe continued belief in themselves, and courage. Perhaps at the new year festival, they could sit for an ale or two at their favorite pub.
To Isabeaux, she would give an elixir of Trueheart Aim Potion*. She never seemed to need anything, no matter what Matty offered. Isa had gems, fish, enchants, the best weapons, the finest gear, and most intelligent hunting pets. Isabeaux was too aloof, in Matty’s opinion, so perhaps the potion would soften her up a bit.
To Guarf, she would surprise him and clean up his little house. He had given her an enchanted broom, which she had been longing for for some time now. Perhaps this was one of those gifts with not-too-subtle-hints: a little magic to mix with the elbow grease. She would get right on the task. Maybe if she cleared a path to his door, the Widow Shannon would venture inside.
To guildmasters, former and current: For former, a trip to the goblin realm for rare whiskeys and rums, and a note, expressing just the right words of gratitude. To current, just a basket of treats from Dalaran. The current guildmaster and officers were very kind, but she wasn’t quite ready to completely invest her heart and friendship. Matty noticed something, and wondered if this was true in most guilds, that there is one flirtatious paladin in every guild (what is it with paladins? Humans, dwarfs, and draenei: put a uniform on them and their amorous confidence increases). Well, Matty didn’t blame them. Taking the world on one’s shoulders deserved a mild joke now and then, of course. The paladins whom she considered her friends, near and far, were truly gentlemen of honor and valor. One who was far away, she knew he was doing well, and always thought the best of him. If she could give him a gift, it would be to continue his journey with success, always. She offered up a prayer to the gods, and felt that it was heard.
She came to the bottom of her bags, and pursed her lips. She would have to call in her sisters for help, because for a mage, rogue, death knight, and priest: these gentlemen had been her friends since she stepped hoof in Dalaran for the first time. The mage had taken up cooking, and there was a set of gourmet pots and pans in a little blacksmith shop in Burning Steppes of all places. (She guessed that if one had to live in that godforsaken dustbowl, at least they wanted delicious food to eat.) For the rogue–new daggers, if he wanted them. He seemed to be in a bit of a slump lately, which was doubly sad, considering he was a gnome. Slumping gnomes are extra tiny, and she wanted to make sure he was all right.
The death knight had armored himself well, so he didn’t need anything in that regard. She didn’t know, but the tiny cub she had given him he kept in his pocket (he loved that little cub), so he didn’t really want anything else from her. However, he liked this special rum–perhaps a few jugs of that?
|Why is the rum always gone?|
For the priest–he was definitely a challenge. Robes, staffs, spell power — all great things. But he deserved something special.
Suddenly, she knew just the thing, and went on her way to find it. Keeper of secrets and agent of surprise, she smiled, satisfied, to herself. She hoped he liked it.
*I made this up. Don’t look it up on wowhead.