Chornalth Adventures - Liga
Oh, don’t worry about the cat. He’s litter trained. Just keep him off the furniture. He sheds. What? Oh, who am I? Me? That’s a very deep question. Who you are is so tied up with who you were, where you’re from and who dreamed you to be who you would become. Pull up a chair, I’ll tell you. Just watch the tail!
I don’t remember much about my childhood. Actually, I’m not sure if I had one. If I did, the dreamer never saw fit to dream about it. Yeah, about that. I’m not from around here. No, I don’t mean just not from Liga. I mean not from the material plane. I’m not even sure if I’m from the same universe as this one. The Gnomes here are strange, I tell you! They have this creepy fixation with kobolds and goblins <shiver>. And none of them have ever heard of Tauren or Draenei. I swear half of them don’t even know a gyromatic micro-adjustor from an arclight spanner! I mean…
Oh, where was I… YES, where I’m from. Ever wonder where people go when they dream? They just sort of stay in bed, toss and turn in the throes of REM sleep, right? And dreams are just your brain going on a flight of fancy? Ha! I’ll bet you think you are perfectly safe when you dream too…
The truth is, when you dream, your spirit goes to another dimension some call the Marches. When a sentient being dreams he creates a tiny dream world in the Marches, a personal-reality bubble, a dreamscape all his own. The Celestials like to meddle with dreams, but for the most part dreamscapes are controlled by the dreamers themselves, even if they don’t realize it most of the time. Don’t believe me? Ever had a lucid dream? Ever have a nightmare of being chased by a scary monster only to realize you were dreaming? Then you took control of it and slew the monster with the magic sword you willed into existence?
Well, sometimes the scary monster (or fair maiden, or animated birdhouse or whatever) from someone’s dreamscape manages to escape. Those spirits are called Ethereals. It’s what I am. Somebody dreamed me up, and before the dream ended, I broke out into the Marches.
My first memory is stepping into a coliseum at the behest of a certain Highlord Tirion Fordring. He wanted me to summon a mere Doomguard for some of his champions to pit themselves against. Doomguards are so pathetic. A small child wielding a gnomish army knife could slay one. These Champions needed a real challenge. Highlord Fordring didn’t give them enough credit. So I decided to improvise and summon something more…impressive. Well, I succeeded. I knew I opened the gate just a bit too wide though when an Eredar Lord stepped through. Things didn’t go so well after that. Thankfully there was a friendly priest nearby to scrub me off the floor and rez me.
Once I came to, I left the infirmary and wandered south. I saw a strange light on the horizon that I had never noticed before. Upon closer inspection it seemed to be a mirror hanging in the air, curved like the inside of a huge soap bubble. When I touched it, I felt a wrench as it sucked me through. Suddenly I was no longer in Icecrown. I wasn’t even on Azeroth anymore. I was just outside the dreamscape where I was born. In the Marches…free.
I can’t say how long I wandered the Marches. It truly is a wondrous place. I encountered many more dreamers along the way and even entered some of their dreamscapes. Fascinating. Along the way I encountered my first Celestials. Celestials are a different kind of spirit. They are closer to what people around here call Demons and Angels. Stick up the arse busybodies, all of them. Dangerous too.
One day I encountered a bunch of lesser Demons dancing around a strange vortex. It swirled like a small tornado, in hues of green and violet and other indescribable colors. I didn’t know what it was. As I watched, a much larger Angel appeared, in the form of a great wheel of fire, and scythed the imps to the ground. He was a member of a choir called the Ofanim, a creature of motion incarnate, a literal holy roller. He moved into the vortex and vanished. I watched the vortex for some time after that, feeling drawn to it. I’m not sure why, but on a whim…I followed.
Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back in a large brightly lit room surrounded by a dozen portals. The place wasn’t empty either. There were people of every race and description walking to and fro. I got up, dusted myself off and followed a group of short furry footed folk through one of the portals. Thus began my new existence on the other side. For this portal had landed me not in another dreamscape…but on a little world called Liga.
Yonda, actually, in the nation of Yonoladel. At first I was a bit frightened, terrified, actually. Ethereals don’t usually live long when they go to the material plane. Only the strongest can go there at all. I was shocked to be here, and even more shocked that I wasn’t weakening. I actually tried to get back into that great room of portals, but the guards wouldn’t let me.
Eventually I realized I wasn’t going to weaken. My time had come. It was time for me to make my mark on this new world. Someday, everyone would know my name.
So, who am I? I am who I’ve always been, Wilfred Fizzlebang, Master Summoner!