westfallcorndog | Chat of Mythology

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viatorus

Chat of Mythology

Now that spring has officially sprung and the ~~wonderful~~ dastardly winter spirit has been vanquished, the streets of the Nexus are once again packed with warmbloods and breathers. Which is alright by Harrowheart; it makes it easier to invite friends to a pleasant afternoon out. He'd contacted Viatorus already and convinced him to meet for a chat on culture in an arboretum in the Wilds. It's a pleasant little area of split wood fences, gravel trails, and fantastical trees, each labeled with little brass plaques that tell of their world and the culture that surrounds them.

While he waits he arranges a place to sit: A blanket on the ground to keep the dirt off of Viatorus' expensive clothes, books on the history and mythology of Azeroth tactically placed at the four corners to keep the wind from blowing the cloth away, and a picnic basket right there in the middle. He's dressed vibrantly in the same gaudy Hawaiian shirt he wore to the birthday party in the aquarium while he sits, casually listening to music from his phone as he gazes up at the lavender leaves of a weeping willow that's budding some kind of perfectly round, silver fruit.

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A laugh accidentally escapes him at the question of gods helping mages. He smothers his mouth with his hand and listens in all seriousness to the rest of the questions until Viatorus is through.

"Gods don't help mages where I'm from. Druids commune with the animal gods, the gods of nature. Some priests commune with their gods, but not all priests worship gods. Mostly... Gods... They protect their realms, and they defend Azeroth from demons. Ten thousand years ago, the natural gods fought against the Legion. A lot of 'em died, but they kept the demons from tearin' the world in two. They still couldn't stop the continents from splittin'. I don't think they're really all that powerful. If you ask me, they ain't really any different from the rest of us. Only difference is they live in the Emerald Dream. Sort of a perfect version of our world.

"The only god I know of that ain't one of the animal gods is Elune. She's the goddess of the night elves, the goddess of the moon, the hunt. They say she's gorgeous. The most gorgeous woman you can imagine. She sometimes blesses elves in battle, I guess? Wouldn't know, though. Not an elf. She's graceful? She likes owls, I think? And... She doesn't take any shit," he says with a laugh. "I guess she's a real vicious archer, and she's all about killin' her enemies. If I were a god-worshippin' kinda guy, she'd be my goddess. They say that the worgen curse was caused by her scythe. It fell in the battle against the demons and laid hidden in the ground until it reemerged a couple decades back. It curses people to become worgen, and controls us, too. Lotta folks wanted to take control of it. Dark wizards searched for it. Some held it for a while, but never for long. I don't think Elune's magic is meant for evil folks. I think she sees to it that they get what's comin' to 'em."

He seems to be done, and even goes for the picnic basket, but as soon as he touches it he stops.

"There are these things, too... People call 'em Old Gods. They're evil. Pure evil, no two ways about it. I've heard folks say they're parasites that live in the world and cause evil. Yogg-Saron was one I knew of. He was the god of death, and he lived under Northrend, where the undead went. He could invade the minds of people who touched Saronite, a metal that they said was made from his blood. Undead were immune to it, so we made our armor out of it."

He peeks inside the basket and continues on casually, "I guess the heroes who finally killed him said he looked like a giant mouth in the ground. Like... a head with mouths where his eyes belonged, and one big maw where a normal mouth goes."

Edited 2016-05-13 22:58 (UTC)

Viatorus quickly settles in to listen to the stories Harrowheart has for him. His full attention hangs on every word. Eyes wide with wonder, then squinting in sympathy, becoming distant at the thought of dream worlds, but soon smiling with Harrowheart again.

That only lasts until Harrowheart talks about evil gods whose blood he used as armour. He tries not to frown, but... it's there. Suddenly there are a lot of questions he's not sure he wants to ask, or know the answers to.

"Um... Who... Who killed him? Undead?"

"Heroes of the Alliance and the Horde, the two big world powers. They worked together to kill him. That means mostly the livin' were there, but I think there was at least one death knight there at the time. And if the Horde went, that means Forsaken – the other sort of undead. Not good folks."

He begins to draw items from the picnic basket. Long baguette-style bread, slices of white cheese with veins of blue mold growing throughout, and a bowl of chipped, red meat that appears to be steak. Next comes a knife to cut the bread and two plates to eat on.

"You got coyotes on Earth?" he asks as he motions to the meat. "It's an animal we eat back home. It's nothin' strange and exotic like a duck, but I think you'll like it. Make yourself a sandwich and I'll tell you about magical creatures."

At this point he's propped his head up with his hand thoughtfully, elbow resting on his knee. He watches the food being taken out but his mind is very much elsewhere until Harrowheart talks about the food.

Viatorus looks at him strangely and then his eyes track down to the meat. "That's... That's coyote? Is... Is that... safe to eat?"

"Huh?" Harrow looks down at the meat as if he expects to see something worrisome there, but it's still only meat.

"You mean like gettin' sick from wild boar? Nah, man. It's a little chewy if you don't tenderize it, and it's kinda greasy, but it's safe! I grew up eatin' this, and look at me now!"

He flexes his biceps and grins. Strong, dead, and dumb. Well, one out of three ain't bad.

"If you don't eat the sandwich I won't tell you about dragons and the Emerald Dream. You don't gotta eat the meat, but you gotta try the bread at least. My sister who lives in the big city made it. She says it's an elf recipe."

It's immediately obvious that he's going to need to eat something. He's not about to miss out on hearing about things like dragons and dreams. Though while he's not particularly conservative in his eating, usually strange food is delivered on a silver platter, and he doesn't eat much of it. This seems decidedly more dangerous.

Very carefully he picks out one of the smallest bits of meat in the bowl, pauses, and then pops it into his mouth. He takes time to consider the worrying piece of coyote before he swallows and nods. "It's... alright... You ate this all the time? Like chicken?"

Harrow stares at Viatorus in quiet confusion. "What's a chicken?" he asks, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

He can't keep it up for long, however, and almost immediately he grins. With a laugh and a gentle cuff to V's arm he shakes his head. "I know what a chicken is, we got chickens on my world. And... Yeah, we ate it like chicken! Sometimes we ate it 'cause they ate the chickens," another laugh and a roll of his glowing eyes. "They're pests, they're all over, and we didn't pass up food. Just pretend it's high cuisine and tell your ma you ate somethin' exotic today."

He takes a very small piece of meat for himself, because Viatorus shouldn't be eating alone, but he leaves the bread and cheese for his guest.

"So I know you like dreams, but I think I oughta talk about dragons first. They got dragons on Earth? You ever met one? Only dragons I ever knew were undead, ones we raised up, and they didn't really have personalities. I've seen some livin' ones from far-off, though! They... Mostly don't like the dead. And I never saw any when I was alive."

It's just as well Harrowheart doesn't keep up the charade for long, because a look of shock is quick to appear on Viatorus' face. Though there's still a second where he doesn't understand the cuff on his arm before it twigs and he smiles with his friend.

Slowly he goes to take some bread and slice some cheese onto it. These things he knows well enough to be more confident about.

"We do, but they're not as common as they used to be. Dragon hunting was very popular in the past. Now any dragons that are left are secretive." After he's carefully set up the first slice he adds, "We're descended from a dragon, the Durants. Very distantly, but it's where our magic originally came from. But I've never met one. I didn't know they could be raised from the dead, either. That sounds terrifying."

"You're... You're related? To a dragon? I... I didn't know that could happen."

Harrow's mouth shifts to the side and his brow creases in deep thought. He slowly puts another piece of meat into his mouth as he mulls this all over.

"Dragons can take humanoid form. Some dragons on my world love mortals. I guess it makes sense, I just never..."

Another moment's thoughtful silence passes before he looks at Viatorus, clearly in a new light. There's something shrewdly appraising in his eyes, yet also distantly thoughtful.

"Other than magic, can you do anything... Dragony? And what kinda dragon were they? What color? What was their name, or their duty? Shoot, V, I wanna know so much now..."

The lanky Durant taking a bite of cheesy bread while he watches Harrowheart with wide, curious eyes certainly doesn't look like he's related to a large, magical lizard.

"Oh, um..." He stops to think through those questions. "I... don't think so. They say the Archon is the closest to a dragon our family has come. They call him der Drache, which is German for 'the dragon'. I don't know what colour the dragon was, or that he had a duty. But his name was Nandhuglynd, I think it was, and he was a European dragon, not a wyvern or a worm."

His voice dips in and out of a German accent effortlessly as he explains all of this. Then he'll nibble on his bread a little more.

"Nandhuglynd," Harrow repeats quietly. The name comes to him naturally; perhaps it sounds like a word from his language? He nods as if the name alone imparts some clues about the dragon.

"What killed him? Or are dragons not immortal on your world? They are on mine, but that don't stop 'em from dyin' in battles."

It's both interesting and nice to hear the name repeated with such fluency. Viatorus will have to quiz him on language later.

"I don't know that anything killed him. He just... left. Vanished. He could have died but we wouldn't know." He shuffles a little closer. "What are dragons like on your world? What was it like seeing one? How did dragons get raised from the dead? Is there a reason they don't like undead?"

The word 'vanished' is an eyebrow-raiser, no two ways about it. But Viatorus doesn't seem to know more, and as much as Harrowheart would love to fill his had with thoughts of adventure and chasing down Nandhuglynd, some spark of sanity reminds him that Viatorus has other things to dedicate his life to. Dragons on Azeroth will have to suffice for now.

"Let's start with a little history about Azeroth's dragons. So... I told you the Titans shaped Azeroth, right? Well, the Titans had other work to do on other worlds after ours, so they left the planet under the care of these folks called the Watchers, who were big and powerful. Kinda like gods, I guess? But the Watchers... I don't know what happened to 'em, but they had to go away for some reason. Maybe they knew what the future held and knew some of 'em were gonna die? Whatever it was, they gave part of their powers to these animals called proto-drakes, and the proto-drakes became dragons. The first dragons created were Alexstrasza, Malygos, Ysera, Nozdormu, and Neltharion. They were the most powerful, so they became the heads of their 'flights' – their, uh... Families? And every one was given a different realm to protect.

"Alexstrasza, the Dragonqueen, the leader of all dragons, is the head of the Red flight. They call her the Lifebinder, 'cause the Reds' duty is to defend all livin' things. They fought against the Scourge in the war in Northrend, but they couldn't spend all their energy on it 'cause they were also fightin' the Blue flight back then.

"Malygos was the aspect of the Blues, the king and master of all magic on Azeroth. He controlled the leylines, and it was his job to decide how magic could be used by mortals. After the Legion was drawn to Azeroth by mortals' use of magic and most of his flight was killed, Malygos lost his mind. He fought against the other flights and against mortals. It all came to a head during the war in Northrend when Malygos decided mortals didn't have a right to magic. He was gonna overload the leylines and destroy the world. That's what they say anyway. Mortals and dragons came together to kill him, and they did, and we called that the Nexus War. Another dragon became the next Blue aspect, and he dissolved the flight after that. Blue dragons are free to do as they please now... Whether they want to or not."

Harrow pauses here and looks Viatorus up and down.

"What do you think you woulda done if you were a mage on Azeroth? Or if Malygos was the king of magic on your world? Would you stop doin' magic? Would you fight him?"

Edited 2016-05-19 14:06 (UTC)

He almost forgets about the bread in his hand, easily becoming absorbed in the story. Giving it time to understand that this isn't just a story to Harrowheart, this is history. It's completely fantastical. Wondrous, and terrible.

Then in that typically Harrowheart way, the undead spins the conversation around in a way that takes him out of his academic perch. He has to take a moment to consider his own opinions and it makes him pause.

"I... I don't know..." A pause. "I don't like fighting," he says with certainty. "But I couldn't give up magic. I couldn't stop dreamwalking. That's my whole life... I'd like to say that I wouldn't let him destroy the world, but... wars... fights..." He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. "They're... frightening. I don't think I'd be very helpful."

"Huh," is Harrowheart's thoughtful grunt of a reply. He needs to take a moment to examine Viatorus after that answer. His appearance doesn't give any deeper insight, though, and so he smiles briefly and turns his attention to the food, which he doesn't eat.

"Back when the war was goin' on, I thought folks who fought Malygos were selfish. I thought the mages shoulda set aside all their personal feelin's about magic and realized that Malygos was given the power and knowledge of the Titans to make the tough decisions and protect our world. They shoulda believed in him, in his judgement. He knew the consequences of mortals havin' magic – I mean, we all did. But the mages didn't wanna give it up. And I always thought that was... Unfair to him. Unfair to the world."

He rubs his palms together for lack of anything better to distract himself.

"Sometimes you gotta sacrifice somethin' that means everything to ya to protect other people. That's what I thought, and that's what I still think.

"But... None of us knew if Malygos wouldn't have destroyed the world even if we all gave it up. And the other dragons fought him, and they're wise, so I figure killin' him was the right choice. But, still... I'm always surprised that every mage has the same answer."

He looks around the arboretum to clear his mind. That's enough of that subject, it feels. Mages have their opinions, they don't change their minds, and there's no need to guilt his friend.

"Who're the other dragons? Uh... Nozdormu protects the timeways?" he tries, smiling in hopes that it might be interesting to Viatorus. "He's the head of the Bronze flight. It's their job to make sure no one alters time, even if it might stop wars or save lives. I always respected 'em, 'cause it's gotta be a hard job, y'know? I always figured they'd be detached from the value of life and all, but a friend's friend's cousin says he met Chromie, one of the most famous bronze dragons, and she cared a ton about mortals. Sometimes they even ask for help from mortals! They ask us to go back or forward in time and make sure historical moments go smoothly. I like to imagine the Bronzes are real cool dragons. Only thing they don't really like are chronomancers."

He finally takes another piece of meat for himself, and once he's swallowed it asks, "You know any chronomancers? Are there rules bout usin' time magic on your world?"

They have already come across the differences in their philosophies, and Viatorus is all too happy to skirt around more of them rather than engage. They come from such different places and that's really no reason to argue. He turns his attention to nibbling at the bread to help him ignore Harrowheart's scrutiny. The other's response does get him to stare back though. There's something about it... Something missing. Like he doesn't fully understand what giving up magic would be like...

It's on the tip of his tongue and then Harrowheart moves the conversation along. He schools his expression into one of curiosity again, allowing the feeling to take front and centre once more.

"I know one, a distant cousin, but she's very secluded. She lives in Switzerland, some people think there's a dragon living there too. Not Nandhuglynd, but another one." His hands start pulling the remainder of his bread apart while he thinks. "There aren't any rules, but mages tend to stop mages who are doing something stupid. Oraskis has told me a bit about time. He sees it a lot, how it can change and things like that. I think he'd like to meet the Bronze dragons."

After a second he smiles at Harrowheart. "I like the idea of mortals and dragons working together. I think time is a heavy burden, no, a..." His eyes roll as he searches for the right words. "It's a... precious thing. Caring for it alone, even as a family, must be a difficult task."

Oraskis! Now there's a name that really brightens Harrowheart's expression. He tries to rein it in when Viatorus gets serious about the gravity of time, but it's difficult.

"Yeah, yeah," he says in a rush, but clearly there's something else on his mind. It's hardly a few seconds before he quickly follows up with a change in subject.

"I liked Oraskis a lot. He's a farseer, ain't he? Do folks in your family come to him for advice? I wanna know all about him. I wanna meet him again! You think he could come to the Nexus some day? Do you figure you'll ever bring anyone other than Isidor around?"

Harrowheart is going to make me dizzy bouncing around the conversation like this, Viatorus thinks to himself, and then finds himself smiling. It's been too long since he found someone so bright and energetic about so much.

"Um, yes." He stumbles as his thoughts catch up. "He's a seer. A good one too. Everyone comes to him for advice, but he doesn't always give them what they want. A bit like the Bronze dragons, I guess. He helps them as much as they can, but some parts of time need to be protected, he says."

"I'd like to bring him here. He'd get along with everyone. He likes you, and he'd like to meet Amelia, and..." His smile is suddenly replaced by a thoughtful frown and then he smiles apologetically at Harrowheart. "His wife wouldn't like it very much though. She's his patron, you see, and she's... strict."

"Well, yeah. You gotta be strict when your husband goes skinny dippin' in broad daylight," he says with a laugh. He quiets quickly, though. He understands what Viatorus meant... or he thinks he does, anyway. If Oraskis' wife is anything like Isidor – honestly, probably worse – she's obsessed with keeping the man safe.

"Maybe I could go visit him sometime. Under better circumstances than the last time. Heck, I think he hinted that I'd come back. Guess that means it's a prophesy we gotta fulfill, huh?" He winks at V and turns a contented smile upward to the branches of the strange tree that shades them.

"I can't believe there's still more dragons for me to tell you about. I should go real quick through Neltharion. He was the head of the Black flight, and he was called the Earth Warder. Pretty self-explanatory. But after years of livin' underground, he and his brood got corrupted by the evilness of the Old Gods, and they lost their minds. Guess losin' your mind is kind of Azeroth's 'thing.' Anyway, he changed his name to Deathwing, tried to kill all life, the usual. Imprisoned underground for thousands of years, yada yada... 'Til he broke free about four years back. Busted right outta the ground, cracked the continents up, flooded the seas, burst the leylines from the ground. They called it the Cataclysm, or... Shoot, maybe it was the Sundering. The Shattering? The Shattering, I think. Anyway, the Aspects and mortal heroes came together to kill him. Almost every Black dragon's dead these days, except one: The Black Prince. The last Black dragon who's still got his sanity. He's the last hope for his flight, and he's best friends with the prince of the human kindoms, Prince Anduin. Lotta folks think they're in love, but I got no clue."

Suddenly he claps his palms together and rubs them in an eager way.

"And then there's Ysera! The Green flight's queen. They call her... The Dreamer." Pause for dramatic effect. "Greens are the masters of the natural world, and they taught druidism to mortals. They live most their lives in dreams, and very few of 'em stay awake to guard the forests of the world. Ysera is the queen of the Emerald Dream, which is a dream version of Azeroth that's uncorrupted. It's the perfect version of our world, and it's deeply connected to nature. There are places in my world where trees grow outta the Dream and into Azeroth. Some folks think that's where worgen really came from. That they crawled up outta the roots of a Dream tree in a place called Gilneas, which is... Azeroth's England?

"Maybe I could take you there some day? Maybe you'd learn somethin'? I know my world sounds terrible a lotta the time, but would you ever wanna go see it?"

The joke manages to get a laugh from Viatorus as well, shaking off the serious thoughts that he'd spoken with. "I think he'd like that a lot."

But then there are tales of dragons to listen to. It's a good way to distract the mage, and to give him a chance to finish off the last of the crusts in his hands. The Dreamwalker leans in ever so slightly when Harrowheart starts talking about the Green dragons. Though Harrowheart probably guessed that they would perk up his interest with their connection to dreams and nature.

"I'd love to," he says immediately. "I'd love to see it. A world where dragons rule and death isn't always the end, and magic runs in great channels under the earth..." He smiles and nods excitedly. "Yes, I'd like to see that."

Buoyed up now, a spark of inquisitiveness returns. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten. Where did you say you live, again? What's it like there? Is it a place specially for worgens?"

Viatorus' answer catches Harrowheart by surprise. He really had expected that all the violence and war of Azeroth would have turned Viatorus away. He looks down at his lap and smiles to himself in a humble way. It's hard to imagine his world being someone else's fantasy, and he isn't sure how to react. He shrugs with an awkward, tittering laugh, and quietly he says, "Guess we'll have to go sometime, then."

He waits a few seconds for the conversation to forget about his complete, awkward inability to accept a sincere compliment about his world before he answers V's question.

"Gilneas is the place for worgen. Almost all Gilneans are worgen. You don't gotta be scared of 'em when we go, 'cause they're almost all well-mannered folks."

He taps his chest with his fingertips and says, "I'm from Westfall. It's real far south, so it's warm there all year long. There's lots of wheat fields, apple orchards, rollin' hills. There's mountains to the south that separate us from the jungle, and a river to the east that separates us from the forests of the other human kingdoms. To the west is the sea, where some folks build boats for the human armies and others fish up food. It's an all-human land, not 'cause of any reason other than we've always been there and no one else has. Guess we got some gnolls – hyena folks – but they're just rovin' bandits."

He reaches into one of his pockets and brings out his phone. He's already typing as he explains, "I spent some time once lookin' up places on Earth tryin' to figure out how they're like places on my world. I figured it'd make it easier to talk about Azeroth if I could compare it to places y'all might know. That's how I knew Gilneas was like England, and... I guess it makes sense, 'cause you talk with a Gilnean accent. Figure that's just the Nexus translator, but it makes sense? And Westfall is like..."

He turns the phone around and shows a picture of a field of harvested hay at sunset, purple mountains far in the distance.

"Texas."

Well doesn't that explain some things?

Edited 2016-05-24 15:12 (UTC)

The suggestion that they should go gets an enthusiastic nod from Viatorus and a wide smile. Then it's back to paying attention and revising place names. The fact that Harrowheart's description is like something out of a fairy tale doesn't hurt either.

Comparing Azeroth to Earth? Clever, he thinks but doesn't manage to say. He's too busy leaning closer to see the picture better.

It explains more than a few things. He thinks. Not that he has any personal experience with Texas, but maybe he should get some... Or at least research it.

"I've never been to Texas before, but you do act a little bit like you're from there. From what I know of Texas." A pause. "It looks pretty." Then he tilts his head at Harrowheart. "Did you make any other comparisons?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I got more! Here, here. Lemme just..."

Harrowheart leans to the side and grabs one of the books he'd been using to weigh down the blanket they're sitting on. He opens it up and removes four small maps set on top of one massive one folded into six equal squares. He spreads them all out to reveal that the large one is a map of the entire world, while the others are separate maps of each continent: Northrend at the top, Kalimdor to the west, the Eastern Kingdoms to the east, of course, and a place called Pandaria to the south.

"I got all these maps at a discount," Harrow says with a little laugh. "Not that I'm too cheap to get ya a good one. Just too poor." He winks. "The Kalimdor one was a school map from before the Cataclysm, so it's a little wrong. That place up there called Azshara? It's a place that always looks like a forest in autumn, and it's an important place of Night Elf history and crumbled ruins. Since the Cataclysm, the goblins changed the whole shape of the land to look like the symbol of the Horde. You can see it on the big map! And that place called Thousand Needles near the bottom? It's all flooded now, but it used to be a desert full'a weird-shaped rocks. Like..." On his phone he shows an image of bridge-like, red rock formations. "A place in America that I don't know how to say. I think it's like an orc word? Oo'tah."

Then, pointing to the Eastern Kingdoms, "Westfall, Texas... And in Elwynn Forest, Stormwind, the capital of the Alliance and the seat of the human crown. At first I thought it looked just like London. When I went out on your porch I was blown away! It was like bein' back home, but so different too! But then I started huntin' around, and I think it's a little more like a place called Zurich." The German word is comfortable to him, and he's happy to share a very pleasant picture of the Earth city. "There's the Cathedral of Light, and the rivers, and all the white stone, and way off in the distance there's hills and mountains. The big differences are the little things. The people, the clothes, the mounts, the smells. But, hey! You'll see it soon, huh?" Another wink and, of course, a smile.

Near the middle of the Eastern Kingdoms he gestures to another land. "The Arathi Highlands are a place where all sorts of ancient human history happened. The ancient human clans used to be at war, but thousands of years ago they came together, united as one to fight the trolls. This is where they first discovered magic, and once they had, they met the High Elves, who taught 'em more. After that, they went south and met the dwarves, and made more allies. Arathi's a misty, windy place with mountains and green fields and packs of roamin' raptors. I think it looks like a place on your world called Scot Land." And of course he has a choice image of the Scot Land to share: emerald mountains, grey skies, and a moss-covered stone bridge.

His finger drifts to Northrend and lands on Grizzly Hills. In his hand he holds his phone with an image of a pine forest before a mountain at the edge of a lake. "Grizzly Hills is like Earth's Canada. One huge forest with redwood trees as big around as ten men laid head to foot. There's streams, and loggin' and trappin' camps, fields where wild horses run, and there in the middle... You see on the big map where it says Grizzlemaw? There's this one tree that was big around as a little village, and bear folks live in it now. It toppled over, 'cause... Shoot, it's hard to explain. It was somethin' called a 'world tree,' which is a druidic thing I don't really understand, but it was made too fast and for the wrong reasons. All that's left now is the stump and half the trunk. Man, I almost couldn't get over it when I saw it. Took us half a day to hike around it. And that's not even the biggest one! You see Teldrassil, the island up and to the left of Kalimdor? That's a tree. It's a tree as big as a whole country, man."

His smile is wide, but begins to fade as something crosses his mind. He stares at the large map, eyes narrowing and relaxing with his thoughts, and after some time looks to Viatorus again.

"I know it's a lot to take in, and I know I've been talkin' a lot. It's hard to talk about a whole world – two whole worlds, really, if we're countin' Earth. But... If you want? I'd show you my path through Northrend before I died? I could tell you about the things I saw, if you wanna hear it?"

There is something utterly enchanting about this storytelling session. The kind of things Viatorus dreamed about when he was a little boy. Poring over maps and hearing about the strange and wondrous things each place has to offer. History and magic and magnificent sights. Similar enough to be understood, impossible enough to seize the imagination...

Viatorus is all open ears and wide eyes, taking in as much as he can of what he's being told and shown. There are a thousand and one questions he wants to ask. But really he'd like to see for himself. Harrowheart's offer is the next best thing.

He smiles brightly and nods, making his hair bounce slightly with the excited motion. "Yes please!"

Viatorus' enthusiasm catches Harrowheart off guard. He's never seen the kid this eager about anything. Certainly not eager enough to make his hair bounce, disarmingly cute though that may be. Yet he doesn't smile, because it's difficult to reciprocate the excitement when he knows the whole story himself. He nods once in a dutiful, obligated kind of way and sets his fingertip on the large map.

It isn't on Northrend that he begins, however. Way down south on the Eastern Kingdoms he points to Stormwind, where the jutting lines of the harbor are represented. "When I got back from the war against the demons on Outland, I came straight here, to Stormwind, where we took boats up north. They said we couldn't take portals 'cause there was too much risk. Malygos was watchin', that was the excuse they used. So we sailed."

His finger travels the western coast of the continent, up and up and up the length of his entire world. When it finally lands on the far right of the continent of Northrend he explains, "It took us a real long time. Felt like months, but I really don't remember now. I just know I hated bein' on a boat. I kept thinkin' the Forsaken fleet would come and sink us all, but it never happened – thank the Light, I guess – and we landed in Howling Fjord. See that little inlet in the south? It's a river that goes into the sea, and we went up it to our first encampment, Valgarde. It's right there under the big place called Utgarde Keep.

"Turns out Utgarde Keep is a castle of Vrykul. They're folks who look human, except they're tall. Real tall. Bigger than me by half my height at least, the men and the women. Some of 'em are made of flesh and bone, like a human... But some of 'em are made of metal, like livin' statues. And it turns out the statues came first. They were made by the Titans or the servants of the Titans to watch over their creation. But they got somethin' called the curse of flesh that turned 'em to livin' creatures like you and m–" He scoff-laughs at himself and winces in an attempt to smile. "Anyway. It... Turns out that some of the Vrykul gave birth to real small kids, and those kids were the first humans, who escaped Northrend for the Eastern Kingdoms, which was just called Azeroth back then on account of that's all the world they knew. And us humans didn't remember that, but the Vrykul did, and they considered us their enemies, freaky lil' runts that we were. So..."

His finger goes left from Utgarde Keep toward the dark smudge labeled Ember Clutch. "They fought us outta Valgarde and past the Ember Clutch, which is a huge burnin' forest where the protodrakes they ride lay their eggs in the fires. There the sky's all darkened with smoke and wings, and you can't always tell if it's day or night if the wind starts blowin' and everything turns black-out dark. We didn't stay there long. We hiked north towards those white mountains and through the pass between Camp Winterhoof and Fort Wildervar.

"See, in Camp Winterhoof there are these folks who look like buffalo. They're peaceful enough, but the Horde got to 'em, so we had to steer clear or they'd kill us. We stayed in Fort Wildervar for a while with the dwarves while we waited for some bad weather to clear. It was a high-up place on a cliffside and we could see across the lake to all the things in the valley below. There were stone giants down in Giant's Run. Some of 'em were big as a castle tower. Some of 'em had full-grown pine trees growin' outta the cracks in their skin. They could hurl boulders as big as a house, and I don't think they ever slept. But they were too violent, so I didn't watch 'em much. I liked..."

He clears his throat and with it comes a small laugh of embarrassment. "The ice nymphs. Beautiful women who danced through the forest. Icicles hung off their arms and ears, and they sparkled with snow dust as they made plants grow even in the cold. They were natural druids who kept the glades, and they were so gorgeous. I tried to see 'em up close once or twice, but they knew I was there every time, and they ran away, and I could never catch 'em..." With a wink and a grin he adds, "Except in my dreams."

"There's more to the story, but I wanna ask some stuff first. Where do humans on Earth come from? Who made y'all?"

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