Steam in the mists

The chill of Northrend eat through your bones. The black ice-freezing seeps into your very soul. Icecrown makes you feel brittle as a reanimated skeleton, no matter what you do. Everything is cold. Even the monstrous palaces – even the deadly enemies. Not even Scholazar Basins tropical heat can fully make the chill go away …

At least Zavessa made it out of cobalt hell. With a small plea to Shuanna

(“Give me money or I’ll NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN!!!”
“You need cobalt, huh?”

– about here Zavessa broke down sobbing; she got two sacks of cobalt. Shu figured it was either that or another crazy sister)

the leap to saronite was made. Engineering in the range of 400-ish is a nightmare; it eats cobalt like … like … well, like a cobalt monster. There’s plenty of saronite used too of course but at least Scourgeholm have a never ending supply of fast respawn saronite and titanium nodes. Not counting the ones that mysteriously goes missing, of course. Invisible bots? Maybe.

The leveling process of Northrend basically consisted of mining and dungeons. By sheer luck Violet Hold only appeared twice. Instead Zavessa got to sai hello to a glitched Loken.


As the titan watcher fell, reduced to 1 hitpoint, he somehow instantly got to his feet – deadish. The “1” remainedc but the kill was made – and the achievement. Luck was on her side, no doubt. It was with a tremendous sigh of relief she left Northrend behind. By now she had a singel mission in life: How to get warm again.

Hyjal was a hotbed (pun intended!). The furs of Northrend proved a bit too cumbersome, thus Zavessa took a cue from her fave sis’ – Vassannah. They have a story. It’s not an entirely happy story, but circumstances in teh past have fused them together in an unbreakable sisterhood. The only drawback is of course that Zavessa is … gullible.

(“No need for hevay duty armors, sis.”
“Just drop some modulators from the ethereals on your garb and dress how you like.”
“O-ookay … how about that robe?”
“Well, I know what I would dress like … “
“Does it bother you I want to be just like you?”
“don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Now, let’s get you outfitted shall we?”)

And so! Yeah, you guessed it. The “haute couture” of Vassie might lack some coverage but it turned out to be quite comfortable for the smoky mountainsides of Hyjal. All those fires really drive the temperature up.

It was an uneventful trek through Hyjal. It was more or less a routine job. Zavessa did hesitate wether or not she should cure the twilight mental control-disease or not, once she encountered and orc. Pity won: he did get a drink. Most likely he ended up as a peon later. Probably one of those gunned down as she made her mercenary duty on the shores of Pandaria.


Maybe … something happened there. A cruel streak in her character started to show itself. She started to enjoy … hurting things. It all started after Marion.


What would have been a typical interrogation turned into something more dark. She enjoyed the squeals of pain. She told Kisalee to finish the bird off. It left a sour taste in her mouth but something far more horrible stirred deep within her soul, asking for more.

Sometimes it’s not a good thing trying to be just like one’s vengeful almost broken sister … no doubt “Zavis” (another dungeon nickname) will find that out. Something has started to shift, you see. Her shadowfiend looks decisively like a sha. Not the happy kind.

Once Aggra stopped yelling

(“I know how you look at that blueskin! Couchtime, mister fancy shaman! Couchtime!”
“Aggie, I wa–“
“You see this mace!? You want it? I’ll give it to you!”
“Ag, I was … Loktar?”
“I’ll loktar your ass if you don’t stop drooling over blueskins!”
“Maybe I should … swirl a bit of green around. Again.”



There’s another kind of hell as well. Obsidium purgatory, made up of fast flying level 90’s who insist on following the same Gathermate 2 path as poor Zavessa, the holy engineer. A few more pleas to Shuanna managed to fix the obsidium conundrum. Deepholm, while a beutiful place, didn’t offer much in either obsidium or elementium; she made her way out of there as fast as she could.

The big question is, of course … did something happen between her and the young prince? for some reason little Anduin seemed confused. As Zavessa took off for the harbor after a chat with the king, the prince glitched. He just stood there. Quite possibly because moving would have been painful. Those baggy pants he’s wearing – I guess he wears them for a reason. (There’s no innuendo intended with the below screenshot! What? SI.7 wants a chat? Oh dear …)


It was about this time Zavessa had a chat with her sister, Cassanna the Huntress. Once Cassanna had stopped describing gutting techniques and how to prepare a pristine mushan hide – Zavessa didn’t eat much during their dinner – she mention, in passing, a nice inn. Zavessa didn’t recall much of their talk but she did pick up on one thing – “bath”:

(“So, while I was soaking away bit of the gore you know, ’cause mushan really stink even on the inside, I ws sitting there at the Inn in the Mists just chatting with some pandaren fellas inna steam bath, aight. Ha! They really are cool dudes y’know! And by the way: With a mushan? It’s not like a deer. A deer you just stab, then glotch – you got a handful of stomach. If you get lucky they just ate so the grass and leaves and stuf form this pretty tasty mulk. Well it smells a bit bad but y’know, you just gotta think about Nagrand or somethin’. But with mushan, a pandaren taught me this aight, you really need to work you way down from the larynx. Once you’re past the rib cage the guts just spill out like … oh I dunno. Like splitting open a grilled tomato. See? Splotch! Awesome animals. Did you knwo they eat pebbles? It grinds down the fibers. Mix it with some yak milk and you got a really good gruel. Dry it out a bit over a fire and you can shape it into bread; ha! When I gave Shu some mushan bread she just stared at me! Silly sis … Anyway, aight: Just cut away the meat a bit, then start working on the tendons and fatty parts. It’s amazing how easy it is to peel away the skin of a mus… Zav? You ok? You look a bit pale?”
“Mu… shan br… bre… oh Light, I need a restroom!”)

Bath. A steambath. The trouble was – no one within the Alliance expedition seemed keen on telling her where to find it. By then, the shadow residue and grit of battle had really started to work its way into her pores. The usual baths in the ocean or a river just didn’t seem to help. She is a bit vain, you see – she likes her skintone. The grey dust of shadows forgotten …


Pandaria was not in the least as cold as Northrend. Taking Vassannahs advice she went into the fields of cherryblooms dressed for the climate. Hot, lush. Damp. Floating away across a narrow strait between Jade Forrest and Valley of the Four Winds was soothing; the air was humid and hot but she started to feel at ease. As she made her way on horseback (Well, actually it’s a red ruby panther, graciously given to her as a gift by Sharenne the Warlock) towards Halfhill the deepfreeze of Northrend finally gave away. By the time she reached 100 stairs – and once she managed to climb them all – she was soaked, covered in dust and grime and turtle blood. Funny that, how killing turtles at times brings embodied harmony. Tiny beads of blueish light that go “pling!” when you drop them.

There it was. After a long, hot journey, after doing battle with Hozen and orcs and Forsaken and wildlife, she came upon an inn in the mists. A suspicious looking fellow with red burning eyes watched her carefully as she passed through the main hall, out to the back. There it was – the bath. The steambath in the mists. The two pandaren gentlemen who shared it with Zavessa didn’t talk much. They were busy staring each other down. Zavessa didn’t mind. Leering princes and all other folks who stare at a scantily dressed draenei priest – all that vanished from her memory as the perfectly tempered waters slowly relaxed her muscles, still remembering the frozen wastes of Northrend and the damp chill of Deepholm.


She asked one of the pandaren gentlemen why her shadowfiend looked like a grey-and-black gob of hate. They looked at her, one of them smiled. The other one said:
“Care for some mushan bread? It’s fresh.”

Zavessa is having a hard time getting used to foreign food.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s