Teu hummed to herself as she applied her shiny new Gnomish Army Knife to a King’s Amber. Valyrie could barely watch; such a nice gem to be cut in such an amateur fashion! On the other hand, lately Teu had been making all sorts of neat things–target dummies (some of which exploded in a terrific burst of color when Valyrie attacked them), explosive sheep, and boxes and boxes full of saronite bombs.

“Do I get some?” Valyrie had asked, only to be met by an indignant puff of air and a five-minute lecture on how bombs are not for inside the house. As if the furniture didn’t need replacing anyway!

It had brought a bit of company by, which was also welcome; Teu had mentioned that the tiny braided dwarf was coming over to help Teu put together her new robotic butler, who was apparently going to clean the house for them. Valyrie was entirely in favor of this plan. When the knock came at Teu and Valyrie’s door, Valyrie hopped up and went off to answer it.

The braided dwarf looked up, and up, and squinted at Valyrie. “‘Ey there, Miss Valyrie. Is Teu ready to get started putting her Jeeves together?”

“The butler? Yes, I think so. She’s in the workshop, as usual.”

“Thanks! I’ll show meself back, don’t trouble yourself a titch.”

“Of course. Take care, have fun, all that stuff…”

“Will do, aye!”

* * *

Ovistine pulled the titansteel bar out of her pack and placed it carefully on the table. “There! Careful with it; I cast a levitate spell on it so it didn’t weigh me down too much, but it’s best to wait it out an’ have the spell wear off before you start working.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, certainly.” Teu pushed her goggles up on her forehead. “It has been so much help, you and your expertise! So many thankings!”

Chuckling, Ovistine dug into her pack again. “You’re welcome, lass. An’ I brought you sommat else.”

It was a Construct-Your-Own-Mechanopeep set, one which Teu had cooed over in the tinkering shop the last time she and Ovistine had gone out to shop for materials. She’d let it sit there, saying something about increased fees for outfit maintenance that Ovistine didn’t quite catch, but with this plan of hers and Ethel’s, Ovistine had seen an opportunity, and she’d gone back to the shop early this afternoon.

Once she’d figured out how to miniaturize the gizmos, the rest had been easy. Adjusting the parts to fit logically into the mechanopeep head had been a challenge, but a very welcome one. The holo-transmitter was even set up to project an image, a voice, or both, out of the mechanopeep’s beak.

And, of course, she’d wired up the transmission recorders at home, made out of several databanks she’d recovered from Gnomeregan–she’d always figured they’d come in handy someday. More to the point, she had the data ready to print out on punchcards, so she could hand them over to Ethel if need be.

Of course, all this relied on Teuthida having the mechanopeep out of her packs, and that was something Ovistine couldn’t control–but given her enthusiasm for tinkering lately, and the way she could customize the mechanopeep to have sparkles all over it, Ovistine thought the chances were quite good.

The parts for Jeeves she’d brought were just a backup.

It would have taken a far more experienced engineer to figure out what was going on; the Field Repair Bot 74A had been customized, but not in a way that was too terribly obvious. Ovistine encouraged Teuthida to use that bot’s parts in Jeeves’ head, and Teuthida cheerfully agreed. When Jeeves was finished, and Teu had hopped up to fling triumphant arms and tentacles around Valyrie, it was a matter of mere moments–and a quick flick of a gyromatic micro-adjustor–to get the recording and transmitting units turned on and working.

“Take care,” Ovistine told Teuthida. Teu bent down and gave Ovistine an enthusiastic hug, too, and Ovistine squeaked a bit when one of Teu’s tentacles brushed across her ear.

“Sorry, sorry! But yes, yes, thank you so much! And for the tiny peep!” She snapped her fingers at the mechanopeep, and it trotted over to her feet. “I will keep him out of harm’s way! He can sit upon my totems during battle!”

“Good call, aye,” Ovistine said. “Light be with you.”

“The Naaru have not forgotten us,” Teu said, and Ovistine nearly laughed–so many times she’d heard that phrase, but never in such earnest, at least not from a friend. “And the elements will be at my side as well.”

Ovistine had let herself out, and after she hopped into her turbo-charged flying machine, she set the controls to autopilot and put her head in her hands for a moment.

Spying on the elf I–on the elf. It’s come to that, has it?

She thought about the axe again, the way the runes had seemed to pulse. The way it had been cold to the touch, the one time she’d brushed against it. It feeds on souls, Valinar had said, and she wondered if he’d really considered what that might mean.

“No,” she murmured, pushing the “manual” button again and drawing the flying machine out of its spiraling northward lean. “No, Ethel’s right. They need us at their backs.”

An’ I’ll be damned if I let my elf walk in there without some way to know if he’s safe. I didn’t wait all these years just to lose him to the Lightforsaken Scourge.

Steady again, she headed back to the portals in Shattrath City, more than ready to be home.

Ovinia puts down roots in the Nexus

Ovinia is now 72 and shaking her leaves like nobody’s business! While it will take some time for me to put down roots into the resto tree, I’m happy to have branched out this way! Healing as a tree is fun beyond beleaf!

Okay, okay, I’ll stop, really.

It’s a very different experience from healing as a disc priest (SO MANY BUTTONS OMG) or a resto shammy (everyone stand together in a pile! now chain heal! chain heal like nobody’s business!). I haven’t actually specced my paladin holy in LK, so I can’t speak to that, although I can’t help but think it is also very different from tree-healing. ^_^ It’s a combination of constantly being on the edge of your seat and getting to relax and think “wow, my HoTs will just keep everyone alive with no problem!” the whole time. I think I was more intent on Grid than I’ve been in ages, though hopefully I didn’t stand in much.

I also got a nice new belt and a quest-reward cloak out of the deal, which was great, too. And I got to flip Grand Magus Telestra the bird, because HAHAHA OVITREE COULD HEAL THROUGH THAT. (Being flung all over the place just isn’t a shaman’s favorite fight mechanic ever…)

Now that I’ve inflicted myself on friends (thanks, guys!), I’m tempted to wander through more random dungeons, trying my hand at this tree-healing business. I wish Ovinia had more of an RP backstory, but she is more or less a blank slate. I have a vague idea that her favorite shapeshift form is actually her aquatic form, because she loves the water, and that when not adventuring, she actually lives on (or owns?) a boat near Darkshore (and has been a part of a few different boats’ crews over the last several decades), but I have no further ideas yet. Kaldorei RP has a lot of potential, but it’s just never been as close to my heart as, er, certain other races. Still, it’s time to get over the ancient dwarvish fear of trees, I think! It’ll be fun seeing what tree-healing is like in a little more detail. (It may also make me a little less trigger-happy in my raids, so I can stop sniping so many heals out from under our excellent druid healers. Ahem.)

How often do you get impatient for something big to happen for your character? Whether it’s a wedding, a breakup, a character revamp, or just having the opportunity to RP with a well-loved but rarely-seen character, there are often circumstances that prevent us from being able to snap our fingers and declare “boom! done!” about something.

When it’s a matter of lining schedules up, that can be frustrating. When it’s a matter of many plots weaving together properly, that can be challenging.

When you are waiting for Cataclysm to come out so you can race-change your most-logged-in character and have her take over the mantle of the character you still consider your main, it can drive you UP THE DAMN WALL.

In a way, I kind of wonder if the impatience I’m feeling toward getting to play Ovistine full-time again is rubbing off on poor Teuthida. Teuthida’s major plotline, I felt, had a lot to do with Kael’Thas — she and Valyrie originally set off on the mission to retake Tempest Keep, ended up on the Exodar, and after many adventures, took the bastard down. Her real goal at this point has always been to help rebuild Shattrath City and try to help out at the orphanage. But off she trots into Naxxramas… Ulduar… Trial of the Crusader… Icecrown Citadel… not because she wants to, but because I love playing a shaman.

How’s she doing now? Well, she’s not really enjoying herself in ICC; she comes home smelling terrible, she’s not entirely convinced Arthas can be beaten, and she simply doesn’t have the same kind of background with the heroes of Azeroth that other people do. (She barely blinks an eyelash at Muradin Bronzebeard, and has yet to figure out why Muradin calling out “By me own beard!” makes several members of her adventuring party raise their boomsticks or steins in a loud /cheer.) Arthas, ultimately, worries her a lot, and she’s not so sure her time is best-spent there in ICC, as opposed to being home with Valyrie or going back to Shattrath and trying to make sure a few orphaned Draenei have a really great next few years (even if the next few years are all that’s left).

I, on the other hand, pretty much love ICC. The fights are challenging but not impossible, the plot is great, and I’m really excited to see how it all works out for us (PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NO SPOILERS). I’m really having a good time there, and it’s nice to know that there’s still so much new content ahead of us.

Mind you, there’s an RP reason for Ovistine not to be in Icecrown Citadel right now — with her memory and abilities as fractured as they are, she knows she can’t be trusted to go into the front lines. She doesn’t know when her healing abilities will be cut off again — it could happen at any moment. She doesn’t know whether she’ll always be able to harness chaos and walk in shadows, or if that’s at some risk of going away with the light as well. ICC is really dangerous, and Ovistine’s not about to put her friends at risk by asking them to bring along a priest who may or may not be reliable, albeit through no fault of her own.

There’s still Ovi’s memory to sort out before she can really tackle the other alternative, the one she hasn’t even thought about yet — harnessing healing energies the way the Wildhammers do it. I have a character in play who’s intended to be a possible pathway to that end, but I’m leaving my options open — I don’t want to lock myself into one true storyline, since I think improvising Ovi’s story has been an awful lot of fun over the past several months. But at some point, I should probably write up a quick bit on Varrim Featherstoneshire (Fanshaw), a former gryphon rider who took a very bad fall and is not even a little bit happy about being grounded for the foreseeable future.

So it was back to Dalaran, first for a soak in the tub to scrub the last bits of soot off herself and out of her braids, and then, hair tucked up in a towel, bundled up in a robe, off to the balcony with a pint in hand, looking over the beer gardens.

She’d expected the memories to stay — or to come back, at least. She’d had them, she knew it, but they were gone now, something covering them over.

The idea of going back into shadow was a terrifying one–the last thing she needed was to turn into a trogg–but if that was where her memories were, so be it.

She closed her eyes, focused on the clear path she held to the Light, and then dug under it, seeking out its counter. Shadow had always been the wrong word, she’d thought–it wasn’t darkness, it was Chaos, all tumbling around and twisting and always, always, drawing her in…

There. Fully engulfed in Chaos, Ovistine kept her eyes closed for a few moments, searching for the way back up. There was nothing above the shadows, nothing past chaos, and while she knew the Light was still there–she’d touched it just moments ago, damn it–she couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.

She swallowed and frowned, resisting an urge to put her arms over her chest and hug herself. It wasn’t cold here; it was just hard, so hard being cut off from the Light this way. Coming up from shadows was going to be a leap of faith, when she took it–all about the hope that the Light would still be there when she let the shadows go. And if it isn’t? If you change back, and the Light’s still gone? What then?

She wasn’t going to think about that. Couldn’t think about it. Not now. She opened her eyes again, focusing on her memories now–and yes, she remembered. She remembered her mother coming back from the war, the years they’d all spent in Elwynn while Nancie recovered, the way people at the Cathedral would look at her when she came back to see Ovistine–

The paladin who’d taken a rock to the head, the one who’d yelled at Nancie for wearing scarlet. Ovistine shuddered to herself. There were things she’d never asked her mother, questions she’d always left alone, but–no. No, there are other things to think about now. Leave it be. The Third War’s over, and she’ll tell you when she’s ready.

She wouldn’t, though. If she hadn’t by now, she wouldn’t. That was how it was between them–there were things Nancie kept hidden from Ovistine, and things Ovistine wouldn’t share with her mum. Plausible deniability, she thought. A goblin’s phrase, but probably the right one for this particular topic.

All right. If not her mother, there were certainly other things she needed to sift through. For one…

She sighed and touched her buzzbox, dialing in Valinar’s frequency.

“Hello?”

“Val, it’s Ovi.”

“I’m relieved to hear it–are you well?”

“Aye, an’ I’m out of Stormwind for the time being. Val…” She paused to take another sip of her stout. “Are you near Dalaran? I’d like to have a talk with you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

There was a slight pause from the elf’s end of the line, but in the end, he said, “Of course, Ovistine–I’ll be there shortly. Where shall I meet you?”

“The beer gardens. I’ll order us a wee keg if I get there before you.”

“Very well. I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

Valinar looked much the same as ever, except for one thing–the enormous blue axe he was carrying. It wasn’t like Valinar to have an axe on his person in town, either; normally he had a selection of gnomish tools on his belt, and occasionally Ironfoe. The axe was slung across his shoulders, and he propped it carefully against the wall when he took a seat at the table. Ovistine frowned at it.

“That’s new,” she said. “Looks runeforged, too. Ebon Blade have a hand in it?”

“Yes,” Valinar said, eyeing the axe for a moment before turning back to Ovistine. “I’m surprised you recognize the runes.”

If he found it surprising that she was in shadowform, too, he didn’t say anything about it. Ovistine nodded. “That’s my news. While I was in Stormwind, I took to shadows without thinking about it–and when I did, the memories came back.”

“That’s wonderful–”

“No,” Ovistine said quietly. “No, it’s not, ’cause that’s not all of it. I have them back when I’m in Chaos, but if I step out again, they leave with the shadows. An’ while I’m in Chaos, I can’t touch the Light–hell, I can’t even tell it’s there. It looks like all I’ve done is make things worse.”

“It’s a start.”

“Aye. Well.” Ovistine tipped her head to the side, slightly, and looked Valinar over. “I remember our conversation,” she said softly. “The me of eight years back had an even harder time talking about these things than I do now, an’ that’s sayin’ sommat.” She paused, waiting to see if Valinar had anything to say to that; he was still listening intently, but didn’t speak. She nodded and went on. “But the way we left it–I only realized after that we hadn’t quite said. So maybe I ought to ask again.” She took a drink of her stout, for luck and courage, and met his eyes again. “Valinar–are we dating?”

He paused, too, blinking a few times; finally, the slightest lift to his eyebrows appeared, barely even noticeable unless you were staring right hard in the elf’s face, the way Ovistine was doing. He took a small breath, and then said, a little hesitantly, “…yes?”

A broad grin broke across Ovistine’s face; she could only hope Valinar could make it out behind the smoke. She’d remember this when she came out of Chaos; she’d kept the memories of fighting, after all. It was only the past she’d lacked, not the present. “Aye,” she said, much more firmly. “Muradin’s beard! I’ve been hoping we’d settle that for… a while now.”

Not that I know what to do about it, she thought, but we’ll work that out later.

“So the axe, there–” Ovistine said, and Valinar glanced at it, too. “Tell me about it, aye? Sommat worrisome enough you didn’t want to leave it at home?”

“Yes, exactly,” Valinar said, and the story of the axe did not ease her worries in the least.

It was times like this Ovistine wished she had a shield like her mother’s. There were so many people, and she could only toss out her Light-focused shields so often–though a great deal more often than eight years ago, that was for certain. Still, a hammer in one hand and a shield in the other–she could see the appeal in that.

Two hands landed on her shoulders, and Ovistine didn’t even have time to turn around before someone yelled, “Ovi–disperse!” at her.

And the hell of it was, she knew how.

She and the priest behind her vanished into shadowsmoke, and when the axe cut through both their bodies, she barely even winced at it.

She was busy.

It wasn’t a flood of memories, no sudden rush–it was as if she’d had a lock of hair in her field of vision, something that she hadn’t even noticed until she’d brushed it away. And now she could see everything: her family, her friends, Valinar–Light damn it, I still don’t know what we are to one another–her abilities, the way it felt to be filled up with the Light–

The dispersion wore off, and Ovistine stayed in shadows. She sent a purple line of chaos into the next man to raise a weapon to her, and he fell unconscious along with a group of people clustered around him. It was enough to get the attention of this part of the room, and when Ovistine levitated, braids twirling, they shrank back a step.

“You’re done,” she growled out. “You want to leave. You want to get out of here and be somewhere safe.”

It was enough for the five people still left standing, anyway, and as they pushed their way out, they took others with them. Ovistine spared a glance over her shoulder, grinning back at Aldras Hale. He looked wary–and weary, for that matter–but he also looked, despite himself, impressed.

“Still think my grasp on Chaos is limited, Aldras?”

Hale smirked at her. “I’m glad I was here to remind you how to use it.”

“Aye, well–” She drew herself back out of shadow, and–

–and. And she couldn’t remember why she was so damned proud of herself for showing off like that; she couldn’t remember why Hale, in particular, made her want to prove she could flay minds like nobody’s business. She remembered what had just happened, what she’d done here–Muradin’s beard, she could scare that many at once?–but not why it had meant so much to her.

Her mother was pushing the rest of the people out of the Cathedral now, though; there was a bit of motion, and Nancie wasn’t one to let momentum turn against her. Ovistine shielded her again and pressed in at her mother’s back, staff up in guard position. Hammer and shield, she thought, damn, that’d be grand just now.

She’d worry about her memories later.

Ovistine sighed at the loud pounding on her front door. It was a little too easy to guess who the fist belonged to, but she supposed she’d put her mother off long enough. She swung the door open just as Nancie had raised her fist again; the two dwarves blinked at each other for a few seconds.

“Mum,” Ovistine said, nodding.

“Lass.” Nancie stood back, dropping her hand back to her side and clearing her throat. She didn’t look much different, Ovistine thought–no new wrinkles, hair still up in its customary bun to hold it out of the way, still in the same fighting condition she’d been in last Ovistine had seen her. Her armor was a little different, and she wore a red tabard with two white mugs on it, the same sort of tabard Ovistine had seen on the other members of the Boomstick Gang. Ovistine had two such tabards–one red, one black–but hadn’t been comfortable putting them on again just yet.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” Ovistine asked. She nodded at Nancie’s armor. “Full gear, eh?”

“On me way back frae somewhere,” Nancie admitted. “Jes’ came frae th’ tournament grounds. Still a lot o’ folks what needs t’ get shite off their backs before they can help Fordring an’ company at th’ Citadel. Still got a need fer folks t’ keep th’ peace.”

Ovistine blinked at her mother. “An’ that’s you? Keeping the peace between us and the orcs?”

“Mostly,” Nancie grumbled. “But–I didnae come t’ talk about me. Wondered how ye were doin’.”

“Well…” Ovistine sighed. “No closer to getting my memories back.” Nancie winced and nodded. “But I have a little more incentive now, so I’m working on it.”

“Aye–aye, that’s good. We’re all–me an’ yer Da an’ th’ elf–we’re all hopin’ ye can find a way t’ set things right.”

“I wondered if I could talk to you about that.”

“Which bit?”

“The–well.” Ovistine glanced back at her door; nothing inside that wouldn’t keep. “Have a walk with me?”

“Aye, o’ course.”

Some parts of Stormwind were much as Ovistine remembered them–the Dwarven District, for one, where her future self had apparently kept her flat, and the Library, and the Cathedral itself. Other parts were different; she didn’t remember so many warships and steam tanks in the harbor, and the Park was full of elves–mostly druids, she’d learned. Agness had taken Ovistine to a knitting night at a bar in the Mage Quarter that Ovistine had no memory of at all, and for all there seemed to be a bit of a break between the shadow-users Agness was a part of and the arcane-types, it was easygoing enough.

As she and Nancie approached the bridge to Cathedral Square, things seemed anything but easy. A crowd was gathering near the courthouse; Nancie tensed and slid her shield off her back, leaving her axe at her side for now.

“What’s all this?” Ovistine murmured.

“Dunno.” Nancie was moving toward the courthouse, and Ovistine followed. Leave it to her mum to walk into danger every time, not away. Well, damn if Ovistine wasn’t keeping up; maybe eight years ago she’d been too young, but Nancie wasn’t trying to hold her back this time, and with all the things she’d learned about her powers in the last few weeks, no one could say she wasn’t strong enough.

Four guards stood on the courthouse steps; Ovistine glanced at Nancie to see if her mum recognized any of them. “Babes,” Nancie muttered. “An’ not enough o’ ‘em, neither…”

There were whispers through the crowd, and Ovistine caught snatches of words that meant nothing to her. Plaguefather. Trial. Uthas…

“Feck,” Nancie growled. She glanced at Ovistine. “Lass–this could be bad.”

“Who’s Uthas? Do I know him?”

Nancie’s frown deepened. “Aye. Ye’ve traveled with ‘im once or twice.”

“Did he do what they’re saying?”

“I used t’ ask ye that. Ye never said.” Nancie growled low under her breath. “Never understood why ye went workin’ wi’ th’ so-called Ebon Blade, neither, but ye’re me daughter. I stand by ye.”

“I’m standing by you now,” Ovistine said. She set her shoulders and lifted her chin. “If there’s trouble, you’ll have the Light backing your shield.”

“Always do,” Nancie said with a grin, but she grimaced at Ovistine’s look of determination. “There’s nowt I can say t’ get ye t’ go back home, is there?”

“Not a thing.”

“A’right. Ye keep close, then.”

“Aye, Mum.”

Two men came out of the courthouse, and Nancie tensed all over again. “Feck.” Her hand was on her axe now, and Ovistine heard her whispering out a prayer for strength, for the Light to shield her. Ovistine frowned. If it was just the two of them, then this Uthas was likely being released, and if he was innocent, why was her mother getting charged up for battle?

The crowd was sensing it too, now, and Ovistine forced herself to focus. The calm center of her was easier to find these days, as if years of discipline and training were as much a part of her as her braids, something that even eight years of memory loss couldn’t steal from her. She was glad for that now.

The pardon was read, and as soon as Nancie heard In the name of King Varian Wrynn and Stormwind, so it is judged, she nodded. Ovistine had heard a lot of things about King Wrynn lately, but so far as her mother was concerned, it was clear that Wrynn had earned even deeper fealty in these last eight years–Wrynn’s name was enough to seal a matter for Nancie, no matter what it might be.

The rest of the crowd was not so readily eased.

The first rocks flew and hit nothing, but by the time they’d landed, there were others. People were shouting, pushing, throwing anything they could get their hands on. Ovistine put up shields as quickly as she could, blocking people off from one another, protecting the innocent if she was able, but there were so many, so much anger, so many curses and shouts.

There was a crash of glass, and Ovistine whipped her head around to see what had happened. She could smell it before she saw it–smoke, and if there was smoke, then–

“Mum–Mum! There’s fire–”

But looking around, she was beginning to see more than just that first plume of smoke. Her eyes went wide; riots, fire–Makers, what had Stormwind turned into while she’d been gone?

The grip on her braids jerked her out of her thoughts, and she sent a burst of holy magic into whoever it might have been–but it didn’t shake the grip loose. She yelled as she got hauled off her feet, out of the crowd, and when she finally managed to get free and turn around, she glared at her mother. “I was helping–”

“Aye, an’ we’ll help a damn sight more if we get t’ higher ground–”

Another crash of glass, but this time louder; Ovistine and Nancie both looked toward the Cathedral. One of the front windows had been smashed in, and Ovistine gasped out loud. Before Nancie could stop her, she was off and running, and Nancie could do nothing but keep up.

“Lass, no–”

“They’re my friends–they’ll be trapped–”

“Son of a fecking trogg–”

Up the stairs, then, past the crowd, Nancie’s shield shoving through people and pushing them aside. The inside of the Cathedral blazed with light, mostly of the holy variety, but there were torches here, too, torches and furious people holding them. The paladins had already gathered into clusters, protecting the priests and–God help them all, the wee ones, the altar boys and girls were being guarded, too, the mob being too mindless by now to notice if children were getting caught in this. Ovistine rushed over to a group of paladins that were beginning to look overwhelmed, and Nancie joined her.

The lead paladin–someone Ovistine didn’t recognize, damn it–swung her shield around, facing Nancie. “You,” she snarled. “Come to help the rioters?”

“Ye want t’ yell at me or ye want t’ help people?” Nancie shot back.

“Still wearing red, Lighthammer? The more things change–”

“Shut yer feckin’ trap and–”

The rock came in too high for Ovistine to see where it’d come from, and the lead paladin hadn’t managed to get her helm on yet; the rock took her in the side of the head, and she went down. The torches were coming closer and closer, and Ovistine froze for just a moment as she realized just how many fecking banners and carpets and things you could bloody set on fire there were here–

She got a hand on Nancie’s shoulder and squeezed, in spite of the fact that Nancie couldn’t feel it through the plate. Her quick prayer for strength and fortitude was a little easier to notice, and Nancie drew herself up, shield at the ready.

“For me love an’ me lass,” Nancie muttered–Ovistine had never heard her mother’s battle prayers before, but she knew what she was hearing all the same, “may th’ Makers watch o’er me an’ th’ Light guide me.”

For my parents, for my friends, the ones I know and the ones I don’t, Ovistine thought, gathering all her power together and holding it close, holding it at the ready, and for the elf I’ll go to when this is all over.

She pushed the first pulses of Light into her mother and prayed.

Eight years of journals was a great deal to sift through. Ovistine had, at first, started at the beginning and worked her way forward, looking at entries about her mum’s return from the war and all the speculation her older self had done about where Nancie had been, who she’d been with, why she’d come home the way she had–but it was a hell of a lot of reading in order to find out that yes, Mum had eventually gone back to fighting, because Mum was a fighter at heart. Well, fine; Ovistine knew that already.

Of more interest were entries that started five or so years back, entries about an elf–an elf named Valinar, who started off as “Mum’s friend from the Stormpike Guard” and eventually progressed to just “the elf”.

Ovistine wrapped a braid around her wrist a few times, tugging on it nervously as the entries kept coming. Found an anonymous bag of candy hearts in the mail today, which have been meticulously picked through to leave just the ones that say “Be Mine”, “You’re The Best”, and “I’ll Follow You All Around Azeroth”. I put them under my Ultrasafe Magnifier and found traces of thorium dust, which wasn’t so telling as the purple hair that clung to the outside of the bag. I only know so many elves with purple hair, and I’m quite sure the bag did not come from Harken.

She nearly choked on her own tongue as she got to the entries about being trapped in shadow, patting herself down all over to be sure there was no sign of leftover troggishness. She hadn’t noticed anything, but then she hadn’t exactly been looking. The entries throughout the shadow days were all transcribed, occasionally marked with strange numbers–perhaps Gnomish binary?

Mention of a few dinners out in Ironforge, a restaurant Ovistine had never heard of called the Barking Murloc; detailed entries on the elf’s search for Ironfoe and how she’d helped him find it; the way she’d brought him home for Pilgrim’s Bounty and then Winter Veil, and all the while, little mentions of him even if he wasn’t part of the day’s events…

She put the latest journal down and swallowed hard. There was nothing for it; she was going to have to have a talk with Valinar herself.

* * *

The Barking Murloc had sounded intriguing, and it seemed like as good a place to have this conversation as any. Valinar was eager enough to have dinner with her, and over a nice plate of appetizer-sized sausage links–all different sorts of sausage, with a flight of beers to match them–she fidgeted a little, trying to work out how to ask what she wanted to ask.

“This is quite nice,” Valinar said, lifting a bite of spicy goat sausage and nodding at the hearty stout suggested for it. “The richness of the stout stands up well to the spices.”

“Aye, it’s a tasty bit there,” Ovistine said. “I liked the pork sausage with truffles meself.”

Valinar nodded. “That was good, too.”

She sighed and twisted her napkin in her lap. “I wish I remembered this place.”

Valinar’s expression turned immediately sympathetic. “No progress on recovering your memory, then?”

“None so far. But I have been reading up on her–my–our journals, the last eight years, an’–” She sighed and dropped the napkin; better now than later, she supposed. “Valinar, forgive my needing to ask, but–are we dating?”

Valinar blinked a few times and sat back; he polished off the last of the stout before answering. “I… wasn’t sure if we’d quite… gotten there, yet,” he said.

“That explains the vague bits,” Ovistine muttered. Valinar seemed puzzled, and Ovistine sighed. “She was–I was–she didn’t really ever say it. Which is why I had to ask. But she obviously–” She blushed and pulled one of her braids into her lap. “I mean, you’re clearly someone she–”

And how fair was it, talking about herself as if she was someone else entirely? To the elf sitting across from her, she was still Ovistine Lighthammer; a Lighthammer lass with eight years fewer memories, but a Lighthammer all the same.

“–that is,” she said softly, “from all I’ve read, I care about you a great deal. An’ I can understand that. You’re tough an’ kind an’ you drink like a dwarf.”

“Thank you,” Valinar said. His ears seemed to bounce a little at the compliments; Ovistine could see why her future-self had found them so adorable. “I care for you, too, Ovistine.”

“Aye, but–” Ovistine sighed. “It was different when it was just me. Me an’ maybe Mum an’ Da, I guess, an’ some old friends. Mum’s not changed much, Da’s just the same as ever, Agness an’ Vaelen have gone an’ got married, but that’s hardly unexpected, an’ certainly I’ve new people to get to know all over again, but–” She blinked across the table at him. “But if you were–if we were–I mean, even if we’re not yet but maybe we were going to–I mean, I brought you home to Pilgrim’s Bounty an’ you met my grand-da Arktur an’ you still came back for Winter Veil!”

At that, Valinar smiled just a little. “Your family was very… welcoming.”

“Aye, an’ that’s the root of it, eh?” She bounced the end of her braid off the edge of the table and sighed again. “I can’t just ask you to do these last few years over again. Not when you’re–when we’re–I mean, when you an’ she, no, me, I mean–oh, feck.” She covered her face in her hands for a moment, trying to settle down. When she looked up, Valinar was still watching her, patiently, those glowing eyes of his seeming to radiate concern and not exasperation.

How patient would I be if I were in his place?

“What I’m saying is, I think I need to step up the process of getting my memories back. It was one thing for it just to be me, but–it really isn’t, is it?”

And for all she’d known him just a few weeks, she knew full well what Ovistine Lighthammer had thought of “the elf”. She could see it, now, all the little things that she’d thought were so charming; maybe they’d still take some getting used to, maybe he’d take some getting used to, but… how crazy was it to be this hopeful that she wasn’t–that neither Ovistine was–imagining things?

“Well…” Valinar’s brow furrowed, and Ovistine found herself holding her breath. “In the sense you mean–your memory loss certainly does affect… your friends.” Perhaps this time it was Ovistine whose brow was furrowed, or, in her case, who was outright frowning, because Valinar cleared his throat and said, “And me. But…” He sat up straighter, which left her doing the same and struggling to keep on an eye-to-eye level with him; he was so tall, so much taller than even the humans. How were they ever going to manage to… no, no, she’d think about that later. “After all, my parents’ courtship took three hundred years. Repeating the last five hardly seems like an insurmountable burden.” And he smiled.

Ovistine blushed from her fingertips to the roots of her hair and quickly grabbed the nearest pint off the table, drinking down a good bit of it. She hoped it was hers and not the elf’s, but then she hadn’t been looking very carefully. She set the pint down again and wiped her lips carefully.

“So what you’re saying is–if I don’t get them back–you’d still want to…” She blinked up at him. “I mean, we were… before, even if we weren’t… but we were sort of… and you’d still want to… be sommat special to each other, then?”

“You’re still Ovistine,” he said, still smiling. “There will be more adventures.”

But here is my very quick first-wing wishlist for Icecrown Citadel:

* Saurfang throws Mark of the Fallen Champion on the warriors.

I would have settled for “on the melee”, actually, until Valinar got marked one fight and immediately exclaimed “WHOO! Free rage!” Turns out if he gets marked, he gets so much rage he can afford to stance-swap. We have two to three DPS warriors and one warrior tank in our 25-man, and they’re all damn good at using those rage bars; giving them all hawt free full rage bars is never bad.

And let me tell you: Chain Heal + melee = THING OF BEAUTY. Not that this is news; Chain Heal + melee is actually why I tried out resto in the first place (I had a group that was two feral druids, a rogue, and a warrior, and we wanted to go pwn a heroic), and ever since I have had a great enduring love for it. Give me three marked melee and I’m your shammy; keeping three full-throttle DPS warriors alive through that isn’t a huge problem (especially not when you have talented HoTtie druids and paladins running around throwing bacon — and, uh, Hand of Salv — on people).

Our raid has totally gotten the hang of this fight, even if some particular versions of it are harder than others. We know not to stand in the Blood Beasts. Our tanks are pro. We spread out enough. So I am not, exactly, complaining about the fight mechanics. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wishing for easymode heals mixed with holycrap hardcore deeps from the warriors on that fight.

I’d heard of WoW. I was familiar with the Warcraft franchise, having been with Valinar and one of our good friends at the midnight release of Warcraft III (I chose the orc cover but ultimately liked playing the undead best; I never had gotten around to Frozen Throne, though), and I’d never known Blizzard to make a bad game, but still… MMORPGs were not my thing. The only one I’d tried was Asheron’s Call, and I simply wasn’t sold on the idea of a game where you had to put in hours just to maintain your status, or build pots, or whatever.

So on the 25th, Val installed WoW, rolled up a paladin named Vaelen, and played for a few hours. I was distracted by the many books and DVDs I’d gotten, so I wasn’t really watching, but he said it seemed like it had a lot of potential, and that I could roll up a character on his account if I wanted to try it out.

On the morning of the 26th, I was up an hour or two before Val, as usual (you’ll note that I’m writing this post around 8:00AM, and Val is still quite asleep). I logged into his account and rolled, if memory serves, a dwarven hunter with blonde braids named Agnessa. I was trying to emulate my favorite Diablo II character — I’d played a bowazon with multi-shot for most of the time I’d spent playing the game, and thought a hunter was clearly the way to go.

I spent about fifteen minutes playing — with the naked vanilla interface and no pet — before I went back to the bedroom, woke Val up, and said “Okay, I think I love this. We have to get me my own copy.”

The day after Christmas, 2004, was not exactly an easy time to find a copy of WoW. We called every software store in range of our house, including Target and Best Buy, and did not find a copy until we got to Renton — a 30-minute drive away — and their relatively-new Fry’s. They said they had “tons” of copies, and we drove down, picked up my copy, and brought it home.

This time when I installed it, I decided I’d try out a priest. I rolled Agness v1.0, who was destined to be a shadow priest. It took me three months or so (I have a journal entry noting her creation on 3/18/05) to roll up Ovistine. By then I’d gotten interested enough in healing that I really wanted a priest to heal with, and dwarf priests were very much in demand, so I thought back to the whirling braids of my original hunter and rolled Ovistine Lighthammer, who set out on her first adventure with her mom’s old mace, looking to fight evil. Or troggs. Whichever.

By October, I’d met some of the RPers I still know today. My guild leader actually sought Ovistine out after seeing her on the boards and discovering she was an female dwarf priest seeking dungeons and RP who was, somehow, not yet a member of The Boomstick Gang.

Things have changed here and there over the years. When Burning Crusade came out, I ended up with a shiny new main, thanks to the fact that I loved playing the shaman class. When Lich King came out, Val and I finally managed to be in the same raid at the same time for the first time, which was a vast, vast improvement from vanilla, when I raided Thursday and Friday with one group and he raided Friday and Saturday with a different group. And there’ll be more changes in Cataclysm. I can’t predict all of them, but I can say that in one form or another, Ovistine Lighthammer is gonna be getting the lion’s share of my playtime. It’s times like this I wish I’d registered twirlybraids.com instead of sandwichrations.com, but oh well. Dwarves gotta eat, too.

Happy Winter Veil to everyone; I know I’m going to be spending the day happily entrenched in my nostalgia. Maybe I’ll go send Ovistine to Stratholme for old times’ sake.

By the way, if you’re on Twitter, and would like to contribute to a running list of “stupidest things you’ve heard someone in a LFG pug say,” tag it with #pugbingo! Eventually, if I can find a list of 25 universal stupid-things-heard, I’ll make a bingo card (or rather, will set something up to randomly generate a bingo card) and give prizes to people who manage to make a bingo. ^_^