The next morning, sunlight filtered through the dusty windows into the room, making Jesse feel strangely unfamiliar with his surroundings, sparking a bizarre thought.
Could it be another crossover?
He opened the window to look outside, his eyes met with flourishing trees and green grass, while blue and yellow birds chirped and hopped among the branches.
The rhythmic sounds of the forge hammer clanking against the anvil and the bellows of the forge intermingled, with the noisy chatter of the early market in the town center far away.
Jesse looked down under the eaves, where a crowd was gathering at the blacksmith's shop, queuing up for something.
This was Goldshire, and although it had been two years since he had arrived in Stormwind, this was his first visit to the town.
He realized that several parts of his body had been bandaged up; without these bandages, he wouldn't even remember that he had been injured.
But now, moving those parts did bring pain, though not feeling as serious as one might expect.
Thinking back to last night felt like a dream—Hogger, the gnolls, the terrifying night attack, the crazed dwarf warrior, and the archmage appearing with magic light that dispelled evil as if he had stepped right into "The Lord of the Rings."
Right, he hadn't collected his reward yet.
Upon leaving, the sounds of the lute being plucked could already be heard echoing faintly in the stairwell, alongside a powerful woman's singing voice drifting up.
Jesse smelled beer and bread, was this the Lion's Pride Inn?
In the tavern hall, a lady around thirty was surrounded by patrons, singing along to a musician against the wall:
"He has arrived,
Before Blackrock Spire.
The Doomhammer,
Once brought shivers to all.
Lothar, you may rest,
No one remembers his name, but your sword will live on forever.
Thunder and lightning,
In front of Blackrock Spire.
The roars of beasts,
Once echoed in the clouds.
Lothar, you may rest,
No one remembers his name, your children now stand tall.
The darkest night will soon pass,
Dawn is at hand."
The melody was somewhat different from what Jesse remembered as the background music of Lion's Pride Inn, yet the style was very similar.
The song recounted a battle a year ago, where the human commander, Anduin Lothar, confronted the orc chieftain, Orgrim Doomhammer, before Blackrock Spire.
After that duel, even though Lothar fell, the orcs faced irreversible defeat. Lothar's lieutenant, Turalyon, took up the broken sword of the general and defeated Orgrim, sounding the horn for the Alliance's counterattack.
Dawn truly was close at hand, but it would have been better if there were not so many monsters causing trouble in Elwynn Forest.
Stepping out onto the street, the air still carried the dampness after the rain. A group of veterans, the same people Jesse had seen from the second floor, was gathered around a table.
Jesse approached and gave his name.
The quartermaster slid 2 silver coins and a few copper coins from a pile of coins, saying, "Many died, more than we expected. Some came from Lordaeron and Alterac, even a mercenary from Menethil Harbor. They had no relatives or friends here; even dividing their money, we didn't know who should receive it."
Holding the small pouch in his hand felt significantly heavy.
Returning to the inn, Jesse saw Grit sitting in a corner staring blankly at a large mug of beer.
He sat opposite the dwarf and casually remarked, "Drinking is bad for injuries."
"Dwarves' physiology differs from humans," the dwarf replied, half-closing his eyes. "Our ancestors were ancient earthen, born from the underground, created by the earth itself. Guess what else the earth creates? Crops, fruits."
"Look," he said, raising his cup and swirling the bubbly liquid inside. "The fermentation of these items is just like the transformation of the sturdy earthen into lively, beautiful dwarves you see today. These bubbles, no different from an old dwarf's beard, are proof. In other words, we and the ale are one and the same. When the liquor slides into my stomach, it's like going home. My wounds would even clamor to apply the alcohol onto them, my muscles eager to heal. It's not just alcohol, it's more like a divine potion that could resurrect a person on the spot, something even the most senior alchemist in Dalaran couldn't concoct, no doubt."
"Of course, that's just for dwarves," he said, downing the entire mug in one gulp.
Jesse watched him and slightly clicked his tongue, gesturing for a beer too.
Grit, pointing at Jesse's bandages, sarcastically said, "Drinking is bad for injuries, human."
"You mind your own business," Jesse retorted, taking the cup from the bartender and coughing violently after a big gulp, feeling all his muscles and wounds ache with the action.
"Heh, weakling," Grit bellowed. "Another round for me, but it must be true Dwarven brew, at least the kind those sissies in Ironforge make!"
Soon after, the bartender, looking somewhat impatient, handed him a large mug filled with a liquid as dark as cola, topped with light brown bubbles.
"Close enough!"
Grit smiled broadly, took a deep sniff, and then sighed.
"What's wrong?" Jesse asked after taking a sip.
"Missing home, I want to go back to the Eagle's Nest Mountain," the dwarf said.
Jesse drew a long diagonal line across the table, bypassing Dunhold Castle, extending into the northern canyons, saying, "But to go from Southshore to Hinterlands, one must pass through Hillsbrad Foothills, and it's not peaceful there, with reports of orcs still roaming."
The dwarf's eyes followed the line to the other side of the table, "So what? Even Orgrim Doomhammer was captured and imprisoned; what's left are just bandits and thieves."
But it wasn't just that; there were the Frostwolf clan settlers in Alterac Valley, terrifying hunters capable of commanding wolves stronger than old bulls to fight, not satisfied with hiding in the snowy mountains, occasionally coming down to Hillsbrad to plunder supplies to survive.
Not to mention an even more terrifying clan led by Grom Hellscream, the Warsong clan. Those drunk on demon blood could easily smash Hogger with bare hands.
Jesse remembered they wandered between the mountains, forests, and hills of Lordaeron for years, uncertain of their exact hiding places at this moment.
That is to say, traveling from Stormwind Harbor to Southshore is relatively safe.
After all, orc warships could hardly compete with the navies of Gilneas and Lordaeron. Once the Dark Portal was attacked, and their supply lines cut, they vanished.
But heading from Southshore north into Silverpine Forest or north of Hillsbrad Foothills into Dunhold was an entirely different matter.
Realizing his savings wouldn't even cover the trip from Stormwind Harbor to Southshore, let alone food and drink along the way, so why worry?
"Sorry, Jesse," the dwarf suddenly said. "I told you yesterday this job was easy money; I didn't expect it to almost cost us our lives."
Jesse shook his head, "After all, silver coins aren't that easy to earn, which I fully realized yesterday."
"What did you do?" Grit curiously asked.
"Don't mention it," Jesse said. "Someone told me about a two-silver job. I thought it was something else, but ended up getting beaten up."
The dwarf paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, beer froth covering his beard.
"You got paid to be beaten up? I thought you might have sold yourself for money."
"Sell... sell myself?" Jesse twitched at the corner of his mouth.
"Next time you see that person, let me know. See these muscles," touching his solid shoulders, he continued, "If I don't bankrupt him from a beating, I'd be betraying the physique, strength, and spirit nurtured in me by my homeland in the Hinterlands."
After sharing a few beers with Grit, all the pain and fear from the previous night dissipated. The singing lady had left the tavern at some point, leaving only the musician by himself, strumming an unknown melody by the extinguished fireplace.
Staying in Goldshire for the entire day, he departed with a returning merchant caravan to Stormwind by the afternoon, reaching the Trade District by evening.
The scent of grilled meat wafted from the Gilded Rose across the small square. Without concern for price, the two, starved for a day and night, rushed in and indulged in pork liver pies and smoked ribs they usually couldn't afford, drinking until midnight.
Back home, Jesse spread the money earned over the past two days on the table, counting each coin.
Subtracting the beer, pies, and ribs, along with yesterday's expenses, he was left with 4 silver and 60 copper. Budgeting tightly, this sum could almost stretch through the month.
But if he wanted to buy his own house and bring his parents over from Lordaeron, merely getting by was far from enough.
Although risky, endlessly earning money like this wasn't realistic. Even if he remained lucky enough to not lose his life, Jesse's body couldn't withstand it.
Fortunately, Eden Marin agreed to take him as an assistant. Perhaps, he could soon live in the Mage District without paying rent.
In a best-case scenario, he might not only get accommodation but also food. Aren't apprentices in Dalaran within the World of Warcraft provided both board and lodging?
Is it? Isn't it? He realized he was beginning to forget the details of his original world's lore.
Anyway, being an assistant should offer some income and privileges within the Mage District, at least a stable job.
With that thought, even drunk to the point of blurry consciousness, Jesse couldn't help but smile.
Suddenly, a strong wave of nausea surged, and Jesse sprinted out, vomiting into the canal.
Turning around to gaze at the night sky, the two moons looked like reflective glasses, bringing back memories of a bespectacled girl he had a crush on in middle school.
Is there any hope of returning home? To Earth.
Perhaps, that's forever impossible.
But this place isn't bad either, every day filled with adventure and excitement, far better than being a salaryman.
Maybe someday he could even date a white-haired elven girl. Thinking this, he chuckled to himself, drool trickling down his chin.
"Who needs earth girls with glasses? Not me! I want an elven girl, an elven girl!"
Two elderly men night fishing nearby looked towards the drunken man. One asked, "What's he saying?"
The other shook his head, "Can't understand. Might be from Kul Tiras. Heard folks there speak like singing."
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MICHARLO· May 11, 2024
