This is the sky this morning in my area:
Not bad, not bad –really nothing to complain about. Misty, chilly, great sleeping weather in fact. But often I find myself as restless as a fruitfly on a one-day shore leave, and my lifespan is 23 hours. Just have to get done what I can, and sleep can wait. No rolling over under warm covers today.
Ceniza is restless. Maybe a change of clothes…or weapon style…or another monster slain, or herb gathered will satisfy. And while trying to ignite the world with her power, she’s feeling a bit fizzled out…she gets the fluff and tinder smoldering, it catches, and then the rains come, the oxygen diminishes, and her competitive nature to bring fire, to control it, is once again humbled, humiliated even, by more powerful forces who remind her, again, like a lesson she cannot learn, that she is merely a catalyst, the stick and not the spark, she made nothing, created nothing. Only the gods are allowed to dance with fire–she is here by invitation only. She bested a hunter with her abilities yesterday, but not the rogue. Never the damn rogue.The rogue with the amazing daggers and skills–he also reminded her of her place. She blinked into walls, and he noticed and laughed at her clumsiness. Mages are tricksters, fire mages especially, but they are also prideful. Tease them enough and at some point, you might get burned. She knew he meant no harm, it was her ego that was weakened and bruised. Not his fault.
She would never be great, only good. Only good enough. She wondered why did these over-powered fighters ask for her company? It certainly wasn’t for the challenge, for they bested her every time. She didn’t know, and tried not to care–if she wanted to be powerful, she supposed she could, if that were her only focus, and all else fell away. Antiguo Amor looked up at her, and tried to get her to smile by blowing smoke rings and jumping through them. He created his own entertainment. Shouldn’t she do the same?
Ah, the ships of the shores of Ashenvale. The lavender sky embraced the indigo treeline, transparent periwinkle stars freckled the universe with wine kisses. Ceniza stood on the prow and waited for it to set sail with unusual patience for her. The moment of serenity passed, and off she went. This ship was going nowhere.
When the tasks were done, the goals met, she put on her finest robes and went to Booty Bay. Ah, it is so beautiful here…the temperature a perfect 24 C/75F, winds from the North to balance the humidity, and the goblins were friendly. They looked at her admiringly, appreciatively, and unlike the citizens of Stormwind, respectfully. She could be so stupid sometimes–what was keeping her from living here? She could go anywhere in the world in her portals, and if she made this her home, her hearth, she could come here anytime. The innkeeper took her reservation with a minimal amount of gruff, she drank a bottle of junglewine, and went straight to bed. If you want to find her, look for her in the Salty Sailor Tavern, just under the gryphon master, next to a large hanging shark in Booty Bay.
|We nest where we can.|
Most of you have turned off the soundtrack of Azeroth eons ago. You need your focus for Vent or Mumble instructions and conversations. A few weeks ago I purchased the soundtracks because I still love the music in Azeroth–there are riffs that break my heart, ones that make me nostalgic, and ones that make me want to dance.