New sounds...
a breeze...
The blackness greyed to colors as Zhelavar awoke and tried to focus on her surroundings. Last she remembered
was Britannia and a battle at the Yew moongate. Although the air was polluted with a windstorm of profanities,
this most certainly wasn't Britannia.
"Oh, geez," she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes and looked at the world, "please tell me this isn't Norrath again."
Zhel noticed a gathering of people in the room to her right, so she headed over to investigate. It was masters and warriors,
discussing their quests, missions, and rewards. Zhel listened and grew very worried.
One master told his apprentice, "Bring this slip of paper to the Blacksmith in the next town that he may send you
to the middle of nowhere to get a broken piece of metal with the 400 other people he sent there to get the very same piece."
And the warrior excitedly headed off to do as asked.
"Ah, you've brought me the item from the blacksmith? Excellent," exclaimed one of the masters, "bring him this slip of that he can read so he can give you a
slip of paper to bring back to me so I can give you a slip of paper to take back to him!"
"Are you kidding me?" The warrior left annoyed, muttering about trading for 'the damn sword'.
"Oh dear, no.." Zhelavar's worry became fear.
"This can't be happening..." she yelled as she ran outside. But her fears were confirmed, as she looked about
and saw nothing but wolves in every direction.
"Nooo! I'm back in Midgard!" she exclaimed as she dropped to the ground and buried her face in her hands.
The nightmare of a thousand vendos echoed, strong enough to drown out even the loudest of shouts that
currently rang in her mind. The telepathy, pointless missions to the ends of the world for trinkets, sveawolves...
Zhel took advantage of the telepathy to try to make sense of it all:
it was through later discussion that others began to unfold the truth for her, and explain to her
everything from the War and the Flood to the events leading to the current state of the realm.
She found this very consoling but still maintained some suspicious. While now aware it was not Midgard, she had
concerns that she may have found its evil twin.
With dagger in hand, she crossed the bridge to the village on Talking Island. She grew comforted in the sites she saw...
the landscape not ruined and raped for housing, a relatively clean city seemiongly devoid of thieves, and - more importantly -
no elves.
Few things delighted her as much as finding a land where not an elf was to be found. True they made for good sport and were
excellent adversaries on the battlefield, but there are plenty of other much less foul creatures that put up a good fight as well.
Zhelavar was beginning to like her new home.
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