Dream Stone. Chapter 1

Translation by: Myroya - Quel'Thalas, Andrew Hallam

Illustration By: ZoeZong

Be careful when dreaming -

dreams can suddenly come true.

CHAOS came to Stormwind today. It was neither a Horde invasion nor was it a trading boom. An irreversible thing happened - we gamers, became a part of Azeroth in true life.

Waking up in the morning I saw everything had changed. "What a wonderful dream!" - I thought. It was about Azeroth! The surroundings will be familiar to every gamer, a wooden building,  opaque windows serving as the only light source, a rugged bed, a bureau, an old-fashioned rack for armor and in the corner a weird object stood askew that could be only an old fashioned slanted copper mirror.

“Oh God, my ears” I thought to myself as I looked at my reflection in the copper mirror. They were sticking out like boomerangs, though they were supposed to cling. The darkness of the room emphasized the exotic blue blood and the paleness of the skin as a result. I bet this is how the skin on a dead body looks. Long dark hear, the colour of which I could hardly distinguish in the fading twilight, hanging lifelessly, down my scrawny shoulders. But the eyes...my eyes, those where the worst of all, looking back at me through the mirror like a boiled egg, which through the white the gray yolk appears. Not at all like the romantic glow that we are so used to seeing in game, this reflection was not so wonderful. And the eyes themselves looks woeful. This was the refection that greeted me in the mirror.

“I am a Night Elf”. For the first time in my life I wasn’t happy with this fact.

A noise distracted me from staring at my reflection. I swear it was a stool walking by. On closer inspection I saw two chubby child’s hands. Was it a gnome? Swearing, metallic tinkling and a puffing noise came from the corridor. I couldn't help looking into the next room which like mine had no door. There I saw an extraordinary company sitting along one of the walls, it consisted of two humans, a bear, a dwarf, three gnomes and a big boar.

One of the humans was sprawled out on the floor, furiously rubbing his groin, that was covered with iron rings and armor plates so tight as a second skin. Next to him on his knees rummaging in a toolbox, a crook-nosed dwarf without a hair on his head, was swearing and spitting obscenities through his beard.

The boar lay on his side lazily breathing in odours that wafted up from the floor below, with an expression on his face that could only be described as a smile. The gnomes, in their underpants sat abreast on the boar's flank. Stretching his neck, a young, fair haired boy peered out the open window at the bustling street below.

“Slapheady”, - I heard him moan. “Do something already. Nature is calling. I promise - I'll go pee, I’ll forgive you everything, I won't even punch your face!!!”

The dwarf was starting to get agitated.

“Look, I’m trying!”, he cried out, throwing another corkscrew over his shoulder. Various sizes and shapes of corkscrews lay scattered across the room. The one, who collected the bag of tools, probably thought that the most important tools were those to open the bottles. The other tools would be altogether useless if you are drunk enough.

“How was I to know this would happen,” - the dwarf continued, throwing off a folding iron cup. “I used plans; I bought it at a huckster...”

“Have you been smoking  this plans? Take it off...”

“How can I, was it me who dressed you? These are epic leg plates!” - roared the dwarf, louder than before.

“Are these leg plates? These iron underpants!” - the human roared, trying to sit up, but of course he couldn’t and he crumpled back down holding back tears.

“There is no suitable tool”, - the smith summarized, looking thoughtfully at the contents of the toolbox. “Maybe a mining pick...”

 “Hell ...” - (and here the intelligent reader will add the necessary expletives that embody the virtue of a dwarf's mother and sister, as well as other relatives until the fifth generation, not forgetting the addressee himself).

         When the stream of the condemnations had dried up we were brought back down to reality. There was the bear’s voice, how can it be? but naturally - bears in Azeroth can speak, if they are druids of course. The speech was slurred but understandable.

          “May be we need to ask for some oil in the kitchen?” – he said.

          “Bring it please!”, - the man huffed hopelessly.

I walked past their room pretending that I had seen or heard nothing, and walked to the ground floor.

There was a crowd waiting for food at the main furnace, you couldn’t catch breath. A fresh breeze and merchant’s cries came through the open door. Stepping out onto the street, I stopped in delight. The sun shone on the wet blue tiles, and such roofs with these tiles were everywhere. I was in the trade district. It was a circus touring day today by the looks of it. A dwarf walked by my side pushed me angrily with his elbow. His great "sword" crunched with each step he took, the sword was not less than two meters in length. On the steps of the bank a Draenei sat and stared at a wooden bowl, it looked like a shield (or it was a shield?). In the fountain, which of course did not work, a hunchback skinny elf painted with garish makeup muttered curses. Poor guy, apparently, he expected to wash the face, but we all know that the fountains of Stormwind never worked.

The street was flooded with a comical crowd. Almost all of them were dressed in clothes either too big or too small for them. The only exceptions were the owners of order-made armour sets. The weirdest thing was next: it used to be five races and all were full aged and the teenagers had never met before. But now there were lots of them: little gnomes, dwarves without beards, draeneis with stumps where future horns would grow, bluish or green elves. Nearly all of them had painted and mascara eyes, smeared lipstick. The girls looked funny, but still all right. Boys, especially dwarves, with first hair on the faces were weird enough... Well, there were lots to wonder at. To my right there was a bank to the left there was a huge crowd, a real rally. Auctioneers stood on the staircase in front - they had to sell things outside. An auction house simply could not accommodate all those people willing to buy or sell. Lists of selling goods were about a kilometre long, all rolled up against the wall behind in the room.

 Everyone wanted to buy something, but not everyone knew what they were looking for. Quite often people made lists of goods they needed, with spelling mistakes that prevent them from searching for things. But even those who knew the correct spelling could not always find what they required.

The auctioneers felt worst of all. Being bound to selling their "goods" by merit alone. They either turned pale, or shook with laughter, or bulged in the eyes:

“Sword for sale. Epic. One hundred and twenty stamina”, - shouts one auctioneer, trying to be heard over the general din of the crowd. “The maximum damage it can cause is ... hum, twelve hundred - fourteen hundred. Seven hundred gold, ladies and gentlemen”, - he shouted.

“What the hell”, - the administrator murmured.  “You need maths to work out these weapons  that we sell. Who wants it? Sharpening is bad, no balance at all. It is a beautiful one of course, but without reforging it is useless.”

“A valuable relic!” - could be heard on the left.  “Battered hilt! With a little effort, you become the owner of an intact, beautiful, unique weapon ... ten thousand gold, ladies and gentlemen. Any higher bidders?”

The administrator scratched his curly top, and turned to a clerk, who tugged at his sleeve.

“Here are the lists, master administrator. To date, our profit is twenty-five thousand, two hundred eighty-two gold, three silver and seven coppers. Can I give the items and money to the courier for delivery to customers?”

 “Yes”, - the fat man growled.

The clerk was going to leave, but was stopped by a question. 

“That thing... the hilt, is it worth selling?”

 “For sure!” - answered the  clerk rubbing his grubby hands.

“I was thinking of selling a battered blade or a battered sheath for it too.”

“Hmm, try this”, - the administrator snorted. “There were lots of odds and ends in the basement. You might be able to sell those to some fools.”

 They both laughed.

However, in the evening, after looking through the list of scrap metal they had sold, no one laughed. The owner of the auction house sniffed sadly. It was such a boom when things could be sold at three times the price. Who could predict?

            ***

            But let’s come back to the town square. The cries of auctioneers were drowned out by the hum of crowd. Here and there, joyous laughter or cries could be heard:

           “I am looking for a guild "Pew Pew United"”

           “"THE HORD HUNTERS" - come on, we are here.”

They were looking for ordinary people as well, like Ololopewpew, Peeinabottle, who seemed to be drinking in the nearest pub.

          My legs brought me to the gates of the city, to the Valley of Heroes.

          Sturdy, solid bridge masonry connected two banks of a small pond. The bridge was topped off with four statues. Unfortunately, I had no idea whom they were devoted. But white marble in combination with gold looked very sacramental. Reflecting the blinding rays of light,  bundled up in a ghostly mist, they were like a four angels guarding the city.

       

“Left, right, left, right,” - I heard from behind, and I saw an armed group of yellow-faced, lean guys. Their slit-eyes burned with determination as they marched through the gates of Stormwind, and fled away, lost in the forest of pales.

        At first it was not clear why there were so many poles here. “Really, for torture,” - I was horrified. I didn't want to see any dead corpses. However, looking closer, I caught my breath - it was a duelling pole!

“Let's duel!” - a boy of fifteen shouted from below. I hadn't got used to my height yet. Even tall people were only up to my shoulder.

 “Not interested”, - I growled and tried to go away, but the annoying teenager followed me like a dog tail.

 “Let's duel ... Come on! ...”

 “Leave me alone!”

But there was no reaction from him.

        Realizing that I couldn't get rid of him, I decided simply to ignore the bored one. To my relief, he became lost in the crowds. But my happiness at that fact was short-lived. A scraping sound made me look around... Bending under the weight of the pale, the same boy walked slowly towards me. Onlookers gave us space.

      “Ha-ha! I have challenged you! Fight!” - he panted, and somehow put the pale vertical and rammed earth round it. He wiped the sweat from under his brow, ran to a pile of junk, dragged along nearby, and began to pull on his armor. With some difficulty raising the shield behind which it was possible to hide from a division of gnomes. He stood in the waiting position. The crowd began to shout.

         “Go! Go!” - they cried.

         There were sounds of laughter too:

          “I bet she'll be done in five minutes...”

          “Not fair, she is a noob ...”

          “Tally-ho!”

Meanwhile, a warrior banging his head with his shield vigorously to stop the echo, roared like a wounded bull (which is not far from the truth) and charged. Believe it or not, the hair on my head stood up, and began to move, apparently hurrying to leave this unsafe place. I stared at my rod "staff", which I did not know why I was carrying all day long. My tactic was simple - escape! I believe that to strike an unarmed one (if you could call a "broom" in my hands a weapon?) is cowardly and despicable.

Turning my feet toward the safety of the city, I suddenly understood! It's a dream! And in my dream I’m a druid! “Now, of course I’ll escape. But I’ll do it effectively - I’ll shape shift into a cat, and disappear”- I decided.

The warrior was tapping the shield rhythmically and walked in my direction. “It is urgent to shapeshift! The enemy is making a flanking manoeuvre on the right”. I thought it was a cold-blooded move. Unfortunately, at the time, the only thing that flashed through my head was: “Ah-ah-ah! F...k!”

Rushing to the city, I tried to figure out how to shapeshift, the travel form would be just in time now. But I could not remember! Yes, what can I say, I did not know how to do it! God knows, and perhaps more accurate to say Elune, as a student I was negligent. Every time I passed the words of mentors, eagerly thumbing through, taught "skills" by pressing the button without thinking what I'm doing! And now, listening to the laughter and whistles of the crowd, getting tangled in my skirt, I was trotting across the field, a druid who couldn't shape shift, who didn't know how to cast spells! Did not know them at all! Roots? But how could I make them appear? Moonfire? Try to Remember... remember ... Yeah, exactly! Put the hands forward and spread the fingers ... and ... and what??

For a brief moment, I looked around and saw an berserker guy, looming like a train. That split second was enough for me not to notice the duelling pole, which suddenly grew out of the ground in front of me. The massive wooden pale creaked, and covered me with its shadow. Avoiding it with my druid agility, which I was not expecting, I jumped out of the danger zone. There was a metallic sound and then a cloud of dust rose. The crowd became silent. In the settling dust I could see clearly two legs sticking out under a pale. I was petrified. Did I kill him?

The  crowd of gapping onlookers were indifferent. My foe was lying at my feet and believe me, I did not feel triumphant. Everyone around him did not care what happened to him. The pale was not as heavy as one could imagine looking at it, but the falling speed made it into a formidable weapon. Blood was gushing profusely from the man's head, and there was nothing to stop it, or at least to wipe it. All my gear was made from leather, and the armour of a warrior from iron, steel and saronite, and God knows what else. There were no coats. The only cloth item available was an old Alliance tabard. The trophy, I inherited back in the days when I gained the private rank. PVP-Battles had never been my hobby, though I happened to visit battlegrounds of curiosity.

“Well ... dash it”, - I decided to off the tabard quickly, I ran back to the pond. It was the least I could do to help him. My knowledge of first aid was negligible... Even in real life I know only "anlagen," "aspirin," and yes, "Activated Carbon", "Brilliant green" and iodine. But there was not even any iodine!

When finally I could somehow stop the bleeding I was dismayed: the guy had not recuperated yet, and his wound eloquently showed the urgency to visit a hospital.

Yes, but was there any hospitals in Stormwind? The closest one I remembered was in Dalaran! And in the capital of the Alliance, there was not any for sure. All the priests were at the temples here, where people usually carried the dead, onwards, to their final journey. Okay, I had nothing more to do but to drag him there, and suffer the consequences.

I took off my vest, put it on the guy, picked up the collar and trying to not shake his head, dragged him towards the city.

 The sun was beating down mercilessly …