Andaeros Dawnflare

The docks were busy. They usually were at daybreak, and sailors and deckhands called out to each other amidst the din of crying gulls and sloshing waves. Magi and laborer alike moved crates from dock to ship, and ship to dock.

You took a breath, the smell of sun and salt stark and cutting to the nose so early on.

The ticket felt electric in your hand. It wasn't heavy, It wasn't light, but it was there, and you could feel it buzzing, tingling, wanting to be used.

And you wanted to use it.

Life in the city had always been so good to you; you'd always loved the thrum of a busy thoroughfare or vivacity of a busy bazaar in the daytime and the hair-trigger between danger and pleasure on the streets in the too-late hours. You loved the people. Some more than others, but you loved them. You danced with them, talked with them. You had lazy days and busy days. You had felt alive in the city.

But, lately, you'd begun to feel caged. Where once there was the thrum of a fine-tuned engine, you heard noise. The people had begun to become something you sheltered from, rather than embraced. You danced less, you found talk less meaningful. Love came less frequently, even if it was only a night's worth. 

You'd lost love, and some friendships, and you'd gained some, too. You'd made new connections, you'd felt happy, but for some reason, you'd always felt four-fifths full afterwards.

Something was wrong. Maybe it was somewhere, though.

You hadn't made any announcements, you didn't want to. But you left a few letters.

To Feywren, you sent a letter, telling her that you'd be travelling for some time. That you'd be reachable, that you'd be there for her in an isntant, if she needed you.

To Zaralen, you left a letter on the kitchen island after happily scritching under the chin of a particularly charismatic calico that she kept, telling her why you'd be travelling for some time. You told her that you needed to find something, and you didn't know what it was. That you'd paid a year's rent, if she still wanted to stay in the apartment.

To Tinnaire, you sent a bottle of whiskey, and a note, thanking her for helping you find your feet again and telling her you'd be using them.

You had taken your time in the morning, lingering with a certain unhurried and indulgent nostalgia, feeling just that little bit more free on the day. 

You put the coffee on like you always did, and cooked up something simple and hearty. Fried potatoes and onions. Sausage and eggs. Toast and marmalade.

You shaved like you usually did. You took your time to strop the razor, before and after, to listen to the scraped leather. You lathered up your soap, and smelled the cedar. You took each slow pass of the razor to swipe away the shadow of scruff. You splashed yourself with warm water, and rubbed your face to fully wake up. And then you packed up your kit.

You donned your armor. It had been some time since you'd needed to, since you'd been called to arms for anyone, but it still fit and felt like a second skin. You could feel the magic in the plates, your magic. Hours spent going over each rune, spacing and sketching, layering it with magic over time, like a bricklayer lays down rows of bricks to build a foundation. Both the mithril and the magic felt solid. 

Your shield hooked across your back, your sword rested at your hip.

You checked and double-checked the pouches on your armor, on your belt, strapped to your shield. Everything was ready.

You were ready.

And then you were back, present and in the moment, ticket in hand, watching them heard your horse to the stables, and watching the passenger before you step aboard the ship.

You offered the man your ticket, and he took it without much ceremony or sentiment, which made you chuckle. To suddenly be so grounded, you felt so sunny and optimistic, like you were a hundred years younger. Excited. You felt excited.

You stepped aboard, armored boots physically heavy, but emotionally light, and watched Quel'thalas shrink against the horizon. It was a small city in a single part of the world, and maybe that was why it had felt so stifling. 

You found your cabin, because you certainly hadn't found your sealegs, yet, and you set your things down. The cot was serviceable, and you'd certainly slept on worse in your military days.

It was going to take some time to sail to Kalimdor. That was where you were starting, that was all you had planned. That was today.

You'd figure out what came next tomorrow.