"Fortunately, Prodeus was chained to his bed. He demanded to be released to go deal with “crawling atrocities” out somewhere in Ironforge. Ummm, no. I warned him that if he did not stay locked up that there were people who might try to kill him if they saw him wandering around Ironforge. This was perfectly true; I am one of them."
Progress is going well on the house. I hope to have at least the exterior walls and roof finished before the really cold weather comes, so we’re able to stay inside. The only inn in town isn’t really much better, and they charge outrageous prices because travelers don’t have any other options. That, and the food is terrible. Probably we’re all just spoiled by Tik’s cooking, but I’m fairly sure they have undead people working in the kitchen. Speaking of that, Orledin has turned out to be a really good worker.
He wasn’t sure if they counted as dreams, really. It had been a long time since he’d slept. Since any Ethereal had slept. But still they experienced… something. Flashbacks, certainly. He’d never met a fellow Ethereal who wasn’t damaged in some way from the way they’d been torn from their world and their bodies. But something else too. He wasn’t asleep. He could see the parchment beneath his pen. The words flowing artfully with the flick of his wrist… but at the same time, he was elsewhere.
So Hethurin’s idea to fix everything was to stop paying me and have everyone call me “Master Brightwing”. I don’t like it, it’s weird. If anyone was a Master Brightwing, it would have been my father, but he didn’t even own our house so he certainly wasn’t. He was a guard. It feels like I’m pretending to be something I’m not, I guess that’s really why I don’t like it. I told the students to just call me Terellion, because that’s my name, but I think Hethurin wants them to call me the other thing. I don’t know. As for getting paid, he said I can just take whatever money I need.
It's been a quiet couple of months for Sangnoir: reading up on the Old Gods, battling Twilight cultists in Grim Batol, hunting fel necromancers in Dun Morogh, helping people summon dreadsteeds, and having terrible dreams.
I decided not to write home about what’s been happening. Father would just tell me to stop complaining and make the best of it, but I know he’s just saying that because he’s already paid for this whole term. If these sort of things were happening at my old school he wouldn’t have stood for it, he’d have gone into the headmaster’s office and wanted to know what they were going to do about it. I haven’t really heard anything about whether my old school will re-open soon or not.
“My latest expedition with the Conclave was disturbing, to put it mildly. Magister Effrem tracked the tainted gauntlet that generates saronite to Uldaman. Perhaps it was there all along, and the saronite monstrosities that we found in the other dig were centuries old?”
I don’t know what’s going on with Hethurin. I thought everything was going great and then Des started saying how there was a problem and he had to talk to me about it, so I figured he was going to break up with me. But then she said that wasn’t it, but there was a problem with him paying me or something. The other night he didn’t even eat any cake, and he was up in his study all evening. He went to bed really early and he was already asleep when I came in — or at least, he was pretending to be. He got up before me so I couldn’t ask him if he felt okay.
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