An Azeroth Home Companion by Treeclaw Starwater
“A Trip To Westfall”
Greetings!
It has been a while, hasn’t it? My travels have kept me away a tad longer than expected, yet I have more to share, friends. The latest installment takes us to Westfall, a territory of the Kingdom of Stormwind, and what used to be the kingdom’s breadbasket. Recent turmoil has caused a hard of hardship there, leaving the farmers and workers behind after war efforts against the Burning Legion. A few individuals there manage to eke out a living, where you least expect them.
Over the past year, I have become a Master Alchemist, where I have developed expertise in brewing some of the most complex—and dare I say, rarest—patterns. In my research, I realised that I hadn’t yet acquired recipes for some of the less potent tinctures. Rumour had it that a member of the Defias wasn’t hostile to either citizens of the Alliance or even the Horde. I was intrigued and had to find this inidividual, knowing they might have instructions to boil and extract chemicals for the Rage Potion.
These days, Westfall had become a stop on my trips to the jungles across the hills, in Stranglethorn Vale. However, I needed to revisit the dilapidated town of Moonbrook to find that person, if they were truly there, for what I sorely needed in my notebook.
It was evening, the sun still high—though not too high—the sky was a medium blue, turning purple and eventually the faintest reds and orange were on the horizon. For a supposedly freewheeling merchant, these were prime hours for business while others were likely taking their supper.
After landing at Sentinel Hill, I surveyed the barren landscape: once productive fields lay fallow, and the lumbermill silent, few were outside. A woman, known as Heather, swept the steps to her modest inn. Upon seeing me out of the corner of her eye, she gave a smile and waved. While the accommodations at her inn are exceptionally modest, I always recommend visiting her inn even for a nap due to the nice beds, which have helped me whenever I needed respite during my trips farther south. The ordinary citizens of Westfall, at least those who remained or haven’t turned to the Defias, are incredibly hospitable and will even lend you their own shoes on a rainy day.
As much as I wanted to stay and chat, maybe even have some of Westfall’s famous barley bread, or even rolls made from their hops, I had to return a smile as I shifted into travel form, heading southwest before nightfall.
The village of Moonbrook, now occupied by the Defias, was rather quiet that night. However, a lone pickpocket was quietly lurking about, finding a hapless red bandana-clad man or woman to skewer in their kidneys. The pickpocket, a fairly young man, was blond, had brown eyes, and wearing worn out boots. While the ones worn by the Defias were in hardly better shape, they had holes in their sole and the right boot had been patched with felt or suede, simply to keep dirt and debris from getting into their shoes.
I shifted back into my typical form, that of a tall, elven figure with long blue hair, neatly held by ponytail. When I saw the young man fell his latest victim, someone with a small bounty on their head imposed by the Westfall Bridgade, I cured his minor wounds and granted him strength of the heart and wild, empowering him to finish his bounty hunt. The man, whose name I forgot, gave me a polite yet firm, hug, knowing that he didn’t have much to offer in return. (And, no, he didn’t pick my pockets, either!)
Peeking into the former blacksmith’s shop, I didn’t see this merchant. Lone houses were empty, many still with their former occupant’s meagre possessions inside. I left them be, if they wanted to return home, for what little they had. Walking into the inn, or the musty remnants of it, I quickly dispatched two burley men who, despite my skill in channelling the stars’ fury, lunged at me the moment I walked through the open door.
Unlike other inns, there was no tavern keeper, no butcher, and certainly no lively music played by musicians seeking to charm silver pieces from travellers. The atmosphere, much like Westfall, was that of desperation, desolation, and despair. A shame, because I had heard, from Gryan Stoutmantle himself, that Moonbrook’s beer bread was among the best that he had.
I slowly walked up the stairs, which held my body, despite the loud CREAKS that some of them made. Another masked man, waiting atop the stairs, bore his knife but collapsed after being hit by a surge of moonfire. Around the corner, I could hear murmuring, like counting. This wasn’t purely rumour: I then knew that I found the person I sought.
A raven-haired man, wearing a red mask, with a pickaxe at his side, was upstairs in what used to be a fine room. He simply nodded at me, a sign that he wasn’t ready—or willing—to fight. While he didn’t display all his earnings, a few pieces of silver from both the Alliance, and some with Orcish and an incomprehensible writing some might call “Gutterspeak”, were lined up on a small table.
“Are the rumours true, that you might have notes about crafting basic rage potions?” I asked, waiting for his response.
“Maybe I do, what’s your offer, man?” He squinted, perhaps trying to gauge who I am, or if this was a deliberate ambush. A freewheeling merchant in this profession doesn’t let their guard down easily. For every customer, they must surely have an enemy or competitor.
“It’s rather basic, and I’m a master alchemist, so I know it’s not the most valuable recipe. Even so, it’s not really something people talk about. How about a silver piece for it?”
The merchant chuckled, pulling a neatly-folded card out of his pocket? “A silver for this? Sure, but you better show me the money first, deal?”
I gently exhaled, “sure, is this fine?” while slowly holding out my palm with it lying face up. The man carefully took it, his hand still holding the folded index card. I reached my hand out for it. He watched my hands to ensure I wasn’t going to do “anything funny”, as he might say.
Once I held the card, I unfolded it: the rumours were true, the exact formula for a rage potion was there. A simple one, but a usable tincture. The merchant inspected sides of the coin, and pocketed it after he was convinced that it was genuinely minted by the Alliance.
“Anything else, buddy? This place gets rough, and I can’t guarantee that you’ll sleep well if you stay…” He motioned downstairs, where some laughing could be heard.
“Why, yes, do those boots have good insoles? They won’t squeak, will they?” waving my hand at some boots on a nightstand.
“These won’t squeak; they’re not cheap.” He stepped backwards, reaching over to the boots, gently flexing them. Knowing the young footpad was likely near, I thought that I might be able to surprise him with some new boots, to replace his old, patched ones.
“They’re a good quality, would you take twenty silver for them?”
He shook his head, “I won’t take less than twenty-six, it’s a seller’s market here.”
“That’s reasonable, deal?”
Doing the same thing, he held them by their tied strings while I held my silver in the other hand. He quietly stepped forward, not even squeaking the floorboards, while the exchange happened. The gentle chiming of the coins against each other was enough proof they coins weren’t forgeries.
“Thank you”, I said.
“No problem, man. Don’t get shanked.”
As I left, I carefully walked downstairs, focusing on the light coming from outside, so as not to be blinded and possibly caught off-guard by marauders. When that didn’t happen, I regained my bearings and saw the young man kneeling over his latest victim, a mage who took a dagger to their back. They didn’t see what happened.
The footpad wondered why I was still there. “Excuse me, I have something for you.”
Puzzled, he moved toward me “what do you mean?”
I held up the agile boots, “would these be a good fit? A dealer inside had them.”
“Yes, I can tell they will be, are you sure?”
“Please, I thought that you might like them.”
The aspiring cutpurse removed his boots, leaving them on the dry fountain, slowly tying them. “Thanks, they feel great!”
“You’re welcome, and until we meet again.” I shifted back into my travel form while he waved, so that I may continue toward the old lighthouse and beyond.