*Dream 03*
She's standing on the top of a very large, very orange mesa.
Around her, the land stretches into the distance, vast and equally orange - a hot, rocky, arid desert, broken only by the cool blue of the ocean to the east, and a line of red flags to the north. She was in Durotar, of course - she'd have known that even if she hadn't recognized the imposing, spiked structure beyond those flags: Orgrimmar, the warrior city-capital of the Horde.
There is a small dot visible in the sky above the warrior city, a dot that slowly grows into the easily identifiable hull of a Goblin zeppelin. Jaina stands still on the mesa as the zeppelin nears her, the dry wind of Durotar blowing her cloak out behind her like a pair of wings. There are a trio of silhouettes visible on the zeppelin's platform, one of which she knows quite well.
The ladder unfurls in front of her, and that silhouette half climbs, half swings his way down to land with a thud in front of her. He stands up, to his full height, and it becomes immediately obvious that this is no man. He towers above her, easily eight feet tall if not taller, his skin green and rough, his hair tied back in a warrior's braid, his immense frame clad in black and gold armor. And yet, despite his savage appearance, he favors her with a tusked smile. "Lady Proudmoore," he says, in a deep, rumbling voice, inclining his head in a respectful bow.
"Warchief," she responds, a genuine smile on her face as she returns the bow. It is a courtesy, a necessity of diplomacy and honor for the benefit of his Honor Guard standing wait on the zeppelin above. From here on out, he will call her Jaina, and she will call him Thrall.
Jaina straightens up from her bow - and freezes. There is a man standing behind Thrall, a man dressed in naval finery that she recognizes instantly - finery she'd known since she was a girl. The fancy clothes are spoiled by a large, brutal-looking wound in his chest from which blood drips all over the rest of him. And yet he smiles at her, warmly, even as his name dies on her lips. "What's wrong, Jaina?" he asks, his voice friendly, comforting, and familiar. "Have you forgotten even your father?"
*snaps awake, genuinely startled - and for a few moments, her breathing is heavy and quick, she's disoriented... and then Jaina remembers where she is and calms down. After all, it was just a dream. No need to dwell on it any further.
...and yet, she can't keep herself from frowning down at the Dreamberry.*
Around her, the land stretches into the distance, vast and equally orange - a hot, rocky, arid desert, broken only by the cool blue of the ocean to the east, and a line of red flags to the north. She was in Durotar, of course - she'd have known that even if she hadn't recognized the imposing, spiked structure beyond those flags: Orgrimmar, the warrior city-capital of the Horde.
There is a small dot visible in the sky above the warrior city, a dot that slowly grows into the easily identifiable hull of a Goblin zeppelin. Jaina stands still on the mesa as the zeppelin nears her, the dry wind of Durotar blowing her cloak out behind her like a pair of wings. There are a trio of silhouettes visible on the zeppelin's platform, one of which she knows quite well.
The ladder unfurls in front of her, and that silhouette half climbs, half swings his way down to land with a thud in front of her. He stands up, to his full height, and it becomes immediately obvious that this is no man. He towers above her, easily eight feet tall if not taller, his skin green and rough, his hair tied back in a warrior's braid, his immense frame clad in black and gold armor. And yet, despite his savage appearance, he favors her with a tusked smile. "Lady Proudmoore," he says, in a deep, rumbling voice, inclining his head in a respectful bow.
"Warchief," she responds, a genuine smile on her face as she returns the bow. It is a courtesy, a necessity of diplomacy and honor for the benefit of his Honor Guard standing wait on the zeppelin above. From here on out, he will call her Jaina, and she will call him Thrall.
Jaina straightens up from her bow - and freezes. There is a man standing behind Thrall, a man dressed in naval finery that she recognizes instantly - finery she'd known since she was a girl. The fancy clothes are spoiled by a large, brutal-looking wound in his chest from which blood drips all over the rest of him. And yet he smiles at her, warmly, even as his name dies on her lips. "What's wrong, Jaina?" he asks, his voice friendly, comforting, and familiar. "Have you forgotten even your father?"
*snaps awake, genuinely startled - and for a few moments, her breathing is heavy and quick, she's disoriented... and then Jaina remembers where she is and calms down. After all, it was just a dream. No need to dwell on it any further.
...and yet, she can't keep herself from frowning down at the Dreamberry.*