Fandaleen’s Explorations

Finally, after some years of wheedling and prodding, I’ve been able to convince Mother that I am mature enough to leave home and begin my great project. Well, perhaps “convince” is too strong a word. Frankly I wonder if she didn’t just get to the point where she’d rather risk me being eaten by ogres than have to listen to me anymore. “Fandaleen,” she would say, “if I have to listen one more word of those meandering crackpot theories I swear I’ll throw myself from the top of the Sunspire!” Then she would tear big chunks of her hair out. Sometimes I think the only ones who appreciate my theories are the town wigmakers, who always send me a lovely card on Winter’s Veil.
Anyway, poor Mother won’t have to be driven to the brink of frothing wild-eyed insanity any longer, because now I have this journal to talk to, and a book can’t go mad. As far as I know. Oh, and I can also speak to the members of the Silverguard, the organization I joined. Mother absolutely insisted I join something so that I didn’t end up living in a crate and eating poisonous weeds to survive. Those are her words, not mine, I know how to tell which weeds are poisonous, and I wouldn’t eat them. Especially not since I’m still working through the fruit basket and all the chocolates from Mother’s therapist and masseuse.
What’s that you say, journal? It’s ambitious of me to plan a vast enclyclopedia cataloguing all the information in the universe, garnished with explanatory essays, moral lessons, cross-references and little cartoons to illustrate the finer points? Why, yes, I am aiming high, but I have experienced so many amazing things in the past week, I’m sure it won’t take all that long! I met Ysabelle, the woman whose room is next to mine, and Kaste, her troll servant, as well as a nice-seeming young man named Achates and another boy named Zaliron who appears to be in estrus all the time. I’ve seen the eastern Amani camps, the eldritch groves of the Ghostlands, and the burning tunnels of Orgrimmar’s sewage system.
About the only downside to all this adventure is that transportation has been sorely lacking. I’ve explained to the hawkstrider salesman that I’m not built for running everywhere, but apparently it’s a lot of “too inexperienced” this and “aren’t you the one that crashed that cart into the crystal vase store last year” that. At least when I get to the R’s I’ll have lots to say about red tape. Until then it looks like I’m stuck on foot. Oh well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to burn off some of the calories from the complimentary ham I received from the lady who sells Mother those little pink tranquilizer pills.