It’s tricky to say “part xyz” to ACfM considering I am about to skip forward quite a lot. I will explain; obviously earlier on there was a post indicating that I was not updating for a week. It took a while longer to recover the routine as I would have liked. As such, Itharian has -flown- past all of what came before it. As such, I will bring you up to speed with a shorter version;
Strangely enough, however, most of what happened after Brewfest was irrelevant. He returned to Darnassus and all that really happened is that he integrated. He started to learn Darnassian (the night elven language), became gradually more opposed to his former comrades across the sea… Well, you get the picture. In Warcraft a lot of night elven players (female characters in particular) migrate across the sea to Stormwind, where they are human-ised for various… ‘Interesting’ choices of occupation/personality etc. Itharian has reversed this, travelling to Darnassus and being elf-ised, except his reasoning is nowhere near as pathetic and contrived.
So Blizzard has brought out this pre-Cataclysm event in which doomsayers line the streets of Old Town and announce that the world is ending but they can save themselves if they join the cult. There’s a questline where you infiltrate them, end up blowing up floating elemental devices, put up warning posters etc. The roleplaying community responds instantly to such developments, as a result the slightly power-crazy upper echelones declare martial law and safe zones are introduced. Itharian was called in to cater for a patient with intercranial swelling. He did what he could, and then started to leave…
He trudged along the pier, his boots thudding against the wood as he approached the docked ship, leading his horse by the reins. “Itharian! Wait!” He looked over his shoulder at the sound of the voice, his gaze resting on the lightly flustered Riana, who smiled wearily, “I know you’d rather eat your own hat than stay here any longer, Ith. And I understand. But we need you here. Please; if only for my sake, we don’t have any trained doctors, as much as people would love to believe to the contrary. And the Light only goes so far.” Itharian knelt slowly before, resting a hand on the plated gnome’s shoulder, heaving a sigh, “If anyone gets in my way, I will have to go. For their sake. For my own.” She nodded, slowly, “I understand. Thank you, Ith.” He tugged the reins about, nodding down towards her, “Go on, Ria. You need the rest. Ande’thoras-ethil.” She raised an eyebrow at this, but nodded firmly. “Light bless and protect.”
‘So that’s how it is. Cultists roaming the streets preaching the end of the world. Sporadic elementals exploding out of floating devices left right and centre. And despite being gone for so long, still the only qualified physician in the place. Fine, although I give this city mere days before the inherent brigade of people who think they know better get in my way and I have to go. I didn’t abandon this shit-hole just to come back and have my brain melted a second time.
He trudged slowly and reluctantly up the Cathedral steps, ignoring all who he passed as he entered the eastern wing, sighing as the varied memories of a crammed infirmary and matching moronic carers fought for his attention; he was barely listening as the dwarf who appeared to be in charge explained where he would be working. A loud thud sounded as he dumped his enormous crate in the corner, rather representative of the contents; a mobile pharmacy as far as anyone was concerned, with some of the most advanced medicines known to science prepared. ‘Shame I have to waste them on this city.’ Procuring a mop and bucket, he cleaned off the filthy floor with a mutter; it was as if the concept of gangrene was foreign to this apparent infirmary.
‘Some things never change. Wonder if they still prescribe herbal tea for burns pain. Wonder if they still think the almighty holy light can do shit-all about chemical imbalances. Wonder if they’re still stumped when the Light can’t do it. Hells, wonder if they have yet realised that weak pulses and breathing aren’t something you can heal without a good shot of adrenaline… Augh! Stop thinking about it, Itharian, or you’ll never stay a day, let alone for an extended period of cultist and elemental attacks.
His gaze fixated on the ceiling, much to his dismay; he had grown so used to seeing the sky overheard, and his ears rotated slightly as he listened to the still rustling and bustling sounds of the city; another sound he had long since stopped missing. The lack of silence and the enclosed space slightly discomforted him as he tried to settle down upon his crate, a hand rested on his forehead. His gaze settled upon the coachgun strapped to the side, causing his fist to tighten.
‘Let’s hope you won’t feel it necessary, Ayris. You’re a doctor, not a killer.’